New Beginnings
by Pantherlily
Summary: Superlock. DeanxSherlock or Dearlock as I like to call it. Sherlock is still in exile after his 'death' and Dean just escaped Purgatory. AU to SPN's 8th season with possible spoilers from it. Originally, I just wanted to make a cute fluffy slash fic but then I got an idea for the plot slowly unfolding now and I have no regrets.
1. Chapter 1

Author's Note:

I don't know how often I will update this or how long it is going to end up being, but I just can't get this pairing out my head so I made this. I know it isn't a popular pairing but oh well, hopefully someone will find this and enjoy it? Also, feedback would be awesome.

* * *

Being in exile had led Sherlock Holmes to America. He was still busy taking down Moriarty's elaborate web, mostly single-handedly. He didn't trust anyone else to do it. He had been away from London a long time. Away from John. Stop it. Stop thinking about John. He has been eating and sleeping less than usual. He picked up smoking again. John would not be happy. Damn it. Stop. He sighed and walked into some shitty bar. To keep his cover he would have to drink at least one thing, so he sat down at the bar and ordered a beer in his best American accent. Not really his choice of drink but nothing since he had faked his own death had been of his own choosing. He had never wanted any of this.

Dean Winchester needed a fucking drink. Having just barely escaped Purgatory he deserved one. He could track down Sammy in the morning. One more day a part wouldn't be the end of the world. The thought made him grin wryly, or in their case it probably _would_ be. It'd be just his luck. Well, he was going to push his luck anyway because a beer sounded awesome right about now. So did pie. And a burger. Beer first. Food next. He briefly glanced at the man next to him at the bar. "You aren't fooling anyone with that fake accent Dude."

Sherlock raised his eyebrows. It worked on most people that he could tell. He glanced over at the man who had spoken to him to glean any information he could with just one look. Quite simply the American looked like hell at first sight but he saw beyond that. This man was: A fighter. A killer. Battle hardened and weary. Not a murderer, not someone in Moriarty's intricate network. No one to worry about then. He turned his attention away from the other man, no longer interested in him and certainly not in making small talk.

"Oh so you are the silent and mysterious type, got it Dude. Sorry won't bother you again." Dean gave a small smirk, even though the taller man wasn't looking at him. He was just trying to make some conversation because the only interaction he'd had lately was Benny and Cas. Cas...oh Cas, why? It shouldn't have come as a surprise. He should have seen it coming. It was only a matter of time before his taint would get Cas. His curse of everyone he knew and loved dying around him. If he was going to be thinking about this shit, he was going to need a stronger drink. He ordered a whiskey straight up.

Sherlock sighed. Twice now this Yankee had called him 'dude' and he found it infuriatingly annoying. He was going to set this uneducated American straight. He was the great Sherlock Holmes, except he wasn't...not anymore at least. He had even changed his appearance, along with his name. A necessary precaution. Lives were on the line and one of the was John's. He sighed again, this time at himself. He needed to focus. He had come in here for a reason and he couldn't let himself get sidetracked. He took out a cigarette and lit up, only to be told he couldn't smoke inside by the bartender. Right, stupid American laws. Right now though, he didn't care and kept smoking.

"Sir, seriously. You can't smoke in here. I can get in a lot of trouble. I am going to have to ask you leave and take your gay date with you." The bartender looked pointedly at Dean.

Dean didn't get to enjoy his whiskey because he did a spit take all over the bar. "Wha-? No. He and I aren't together. I've never even met this Dude."

Having finally had enough Sherlock spun around and glared at Dean. "Would you please _stop_ calling me that. I have a name for God's sake."

The bartender glanced between the two and rolled his eyes. "Whatever, look I just want you both to get the hell out of my bar."

Dean bumped into Sherlock's shoulder purposefully before leaving. "Sorry about that _man_," he muttered bitterly. All he had wanted was to enjoy a drink or two after getting out of Purgatory but like usual the world was against him. He didn't even know why he bothered trying anymore.

"Sir, that will be fifteen bucks." The bartender looked expectantly at Sherlock.

"Fifteen dollars? All I ordered was a beer. I refuse to let you overcharge me, just because you think you are entitled to do whatever you want because you own this place." So much for keeping a low profile. Sherlock was drawing stares and the place had fallen quiet.

"For your lover." The bartender motioned his head towards Dean's now empty stool. "He didn't pay, so it falls on you."

Sherlock rolled his eyes threw down a twenty and just walked away because he didn't care about the change. He needed to get out of the bar before anymore people saw him and got too good of a look. As he left, he continued to smoke his cigarette defiantly. He saw Dean pacing the parking lot agitatedly. "Hey, _dude_," the word almost made him cringe when he said it. "You owe me twenty dollars."

This guy again. Awesome. "Look _buddy_. I've had a really shitty year, so just leave me alone all right. And what do you mean I owe you? If anything, you owe me a drink for getting me kicked out of a bar." Dean took a few steps forward confrontationally.

"You didn't pay your tab and I got stuck with the bill." Sherlock wasn't intimidated by Dean in the least and stepped forward as well, until they were was barely an inch between them. He had to tilt his head down a little, to look the American in the eye. He removed the cigarette from his mouth and blew smoke right in the face in front of him.

Dean couldn't help but cough. Now that was just downright rude. He shoved the taller man in the chest with both hands roughly. "Fine, you paid for my shit that I didn't get to finish. So, I say that makes us even." He took a couple of steps back, so he could circle Sherlock.

A thin smirk etched his lips at getting shoved. Sherlock had expected the shove but he let himself tumble back a few paces. Just push a few more buttons and the first punch would be thrown. It was obvious they both needed to let off some frustration, so might as well continue to incite a fight. He flicked the cigarette at Dean, watching as it bounced off the other man's chest. That should do it. He braced himself.

Oh hell _no_. This snobby bastard was going to learn a lesson. Dean closed his fingers, drew back his arm and swung for the man's face. He was surprised to see that it missed. He hadn't taken the lanky form in front of him as fighter. The guy was skinny and wiry and well...he had sorely misjudged Sherlock.

Sherlock moved deftly to one side, that same small, strange smirk on his lips. He caught the arm and bent it backwards...well, tried to, the smaller man had twisted out of it. A fighter indeed.

"Hey! If you two love birds are going to fight, get out off my property or I am calling the cops! It's bad for business!" The bartender was yelling at them again.

They both halted, Sherlock holding onto Dean's shirt while the other man had his hand back for another swing. They turned to look at the bartender and back at each other. Then it happened. Dean kissed Sherlock.

Sherlock jerked away, sputtering out incoherent words. What the hell? He released Dean's shirt, his mind still processing what had just happened.

Dean smirked as he dropped his arm and let himself relax a little. "Not bad...for a Dude. Look, that was nothing. I just don't feel like going to jail." He turned the bartender and gave the man two thumbs up with a grin.

Sherlock wasn't listening to anything Dean was saying, his mind was still in shock. It wasn't a state he was used to being in. He felt confused, even a little flustered. These weren't normal emotions for him and he was having a hard time understanding them. Well, emotions period were hard for him to sift through.

Dean turned his attention back to Sherlock. "You okay man? You look...lost. Haven't you ever been kissed before?"

Sherlock finally paid attention to the man talking to him. "What? Uh, no actually. It...isn't really my area..." He was still having trouble forming coherent sentences. Get it together. He was Sherlock Holmes damn it. Quick witted. Genius. Yet here he was still struggling to understand what exactly had happened.

Dean raised his eyebrows. "Really? You are kidding, right? Not that I'm into guys or anything, but you aren't too bad looking. I'm sure someone must have caught your eye."

Finally Sherlock recovered. "There was the prospect of someone but it...didn't work out." He shrugged. "In a way, you remind me of him a little."

"_Him_? So, you're gay. Awesome. I kissed a gay dude." Dean was never telling this story to anyone, _ever_.

Sherlock raised his eyebrows. "I guess so. It isn't something I have ever really thought about." He shrugged again.

"Well, I am sure you two can work things out." Dean was getting uncomfortable with this conversation. Talking about emotions was for stupid chick-flicks.

"Probably not, he thinks I'm dead." Sherlock waved a dismissive hand. "Long story," he muttered. Why was he still talking about John? About his old life? A life he may never be able to go back to and to a stranger nonetheless?

Well, that was something Dean could relate to...all to well, really. He was done talking though. "All right. Dude, that about exceeds my quota on this kind of talk so how about we both go find another bar and get fuckin' drunk?"

While getting drunk didn't sound appealing to Sherlock, ceasing the conversation did. He merely nodded and the two began to walk down the street in comfortable silence.


	2. Chapter 2

Author's Note:

I dunno, I was bored at work today and I came up with this chapter.

* * *

So, they were really doing this. Dean still didn't even know this guy's name. Should he even bother asking? It would break the silence but he felt at this point conversation would be forced. He wasn't sure where they were really or where the next bar was, but he continued walking next to the taller man.

Sherlock appreciated the silence. It gave him time to think. Organize his thoughts. He finally spoke when he realized they weren't going anywhere. "If we take a left, walk three blocks and make a right we should come to another bar."

Dean turned to look at Sherlock with a partial arched brow. "You aren't from around here, even if you keep using that stupid fake accent. How do you know your way around?"

Sherlock shrugged. He had taken the time to memorize the lay out of the city, just like all the other places he had visited. He still had a job to do but instead he was walking along the streets in the middle of the night with a virtual stranger. "I'm good with maps."

"You got one of those photographic memories?" Dean followed the directions the other man had given automatically.

"Something like that," Sherlock muttered. He didn't want to try and explain how his mind worked right now. Most people didn't understand and probably never would.

"Awesome. Still going with the mysterious thing I see." Dean gave a faint smirk and eyed the building in front of them. This wasn't just a bar, it was night club. The music was loud and there was a line. "This doesn't really seem like the kind of place you would go to Dude."

Sherlock rolled his eyes at being called 'dude' again for...well he had lost count at this point. He eyed the building as well. "It isn't. In fact, bars aren't my scene period."

"Right, sorry. What is your name, since you obviously don't like 'dude' at all." Dean turned to face the man next to him. "I'm Dean Winchester." He stuck out his hand to Sherlock.

"I'm..." Sherlock sighed and shook his head. "I'm nobody these days...Mister Winchester." He shook the hand briefly.

"Oooookay then, I'm just going to keep calling you 'Dude' until you give a real name or hell even a fake name if it makes you feel better. And the only people who call me 'Mister Winchester' is nobody. Dean is fine." Dean stared at the building again. "You sure you want to go in? They might not let you in." Another small smirk formed on his lips.

"Awesome," Sherlock mimicked Dean but his mouth was twitched up into a small smirk. His eyes narrowed at the American. "Why wouldn't they let me in?"

"Uh, have you seen the way you are dressed? The 1920's called and they want their clothes back." Dean couldn't help but smirk bigger.

Sherlock looked down at his clothes. He rather liked the suit he was wearing. A fedora went with it but he refused to wear it. He couldn't wear anything he used, had changed his wardrobe completely. It was too risky otherwise. "A bit not good?"

"A lot not good Dude." Dean shook his head with a small laugh. The line had finally moved up and the bouncer stopped them. He easily paid the big man at the door to let them pass.

Sherlock grumbled something incoherent but followed Dean inside the loud building. How did people come here on a daily basis? How was he supposed to think in a place like this? Why had he even come at all to begin with? Was it because he was feeling a bit lonely and this American was the only person he had really interacted with without killing them after? Probably. Stupid useless emotions, always getting in the way of things.

Dean eyed Sherlock as they found two empty spots at the bar. "No smoking this time, all right Dude?" If you get me kicked out again, I'm going to kick your ass." He ordered two shots of whiskey and slid a glass over to Sherlock.

"I would like to see you try." Sherlock smirked ant then shook his head at the offered drink.

Dean shrugged, poured the contents of the glass into his and downed the double shot quickly. Now maybe he could enjoy his evening, well if mysterious Dude would loosen up a little. "You don't talk much, do you?"

The smirk returned. "Not usually." The music in this club was annoying him. How could people listen to this cacophony? Sherlock missed playing the violin to help him relax. Anything from his old life he had given up.

Right. Awesome. Just his luck his drinking buddy, well companion...new friend...? didn't talk much. Dean wasn't really sure what to consider the man next to him. He decided to order another drink. He had come here in hopes of getting shitfaced after all. He downed the next shot and looked back over to Sherlock. "I think I am going to call you Sam. You two aren't anything alike but I need a name to call you by and it will be easy for me to remember."

Sherlock furrowed his eyebrows contemplatively. "Sam? He is someone important to you." The sentence was more of a statement, rather than a question. "A sibling perhaps." A pause. "Younger than you."

Dean raised his eyebrows. "Yeah, how'd y'know?" He downed his fourth shot for the night.

Sherlock shrugged. "Simple deduction really." Once more, he didn't feel like explaining himself.

"Of course. How stupid of me. 'Simple deduction.' Because knowing things about a complete stranger is normal." Dean's eyes narrowed as a thought occurred to him. He grabbed Sherlock by the arm tightly, his voice dropping to a harsh whisper. "What are you?"

Genuine surprise overcame Sherlock. Had Dean had too much to drink already? He had figured the American could drink quite a bit before becoming intoxicated. "A human being who doesn't appreciate your tone or contact. Let go of my arm, _now_." He fixed Dean with an icy glare.

Dean returned the glare and slowly let go of the arm. "I'm watching you," he growled out and ordered another drink.

Sherlock shook his head. This was stupid. He was going to leave. He didn't have time to waste here and certainly not with a drunk American. It'd been a mistake to think he try have a moment of normalcy in his life. He got up to leave.

"Where do you think you are going?" Dean followed after Sherlock and grabbed the other man's arm again.

"Away from you. You really want to remove your hand from arm, before I break every finger in your hand." Sherlock had, had enough.

"Big talk for a bean stalk." Dean was feeling a little cocky, probably the alcohol. He was also feeling apprehensive and wary. Nothing could ever go normally for him and he couldn't help but be suspicious of Sherlock. He had no proof arm he was holding wasn't anything other than human and he reluctantly let go.

"Thank you," Sherlock said crisply as he fixed his suit and left the deafening building.

Dean hurriedly gulped down another drink before following Sherlock outside. Better to keep an eye out, just in case.

Sherlock turned around sharply. "Why are following me?"

Dean gave a slight smirk. "Just making sure you stay out of trouble."

"Look, you are obviously drunk. My advice is you find a hotel or go home and sleep it off." Sherlock wanted to be rid Dean at this point.

"A little buzzed maybe, but I'm not drunk." Dean didn't know how to explain he needed to make sure the taller man was in fact a man without sounding bat shit insane.

"What will it take to get you to leave me alone?" Sherlock was getting more annoyed with every word spoken. He just wanted to be alone again, it was better that way.

"One night. Spend one night with me." Okay, that sounded less gay in his head. To hell with it. Dean decided to go with it. "I just want to test a theory and then after the night is over, you can go. Never see or hear from me again."


	3. Chapter 3

Author's Note:

I'm not sure if anyone is reading this but...here is the next chapter anyway.

* * *

Sherlock wasn't usually caught by surprise by much but for the third time that night the American had managed to do just that. He was quiet for a thoughtful moment. "You don't trust me and want to keep an eye on me."

Dean shrugged. No point in lying if mysterious Dude had figured it out already. "Yeah, pretty much." No name give, acting weird, fake accent, knowing too much. It just didn't add up for the hunter. Maybe Purgatory had made him paranoid but it was better to be paranoid than dead.

"No," Sherlock replied simply and turned to keep on walking.

Dean should have expected that answer but he wasn't going tot let this Dude just walk away that easily. "Look we can do this the easy way or the hard way."

Sherlock stopped with a sigh. "Listen, I realize you are adept at fighting but you wouldn't win. Even if you weren't at a disadvantage with liquor in your system. However, if you insist then I will be more than happy to oblige."

Dean raised his eyebrows. Who the hell talked like that? "The hard way then. You must be pretty full of yourself if you think a snobby bastard like you could possibly hold their own in a fight."

"Just because I am a 'snob,' as you put it, doesn't mean I don't know how to...what is it you American's say? 'Kick your ass?'" Damn it. Sherlock had made a mistake with his choice of words. He had been so careful up until now. He supposed it didn't really matter though since Dean had already figured out his accent was fake anyway.

"I knew you had a fake accent!" Dean smirked in triumphant. He studied the taller man, who had suddenly fallen quiet.

After a long silence, Sherlock spoke again. "If we are really going to do this, perhaps it would be best if we went to a secluded place. Less likely to go to jail or be noticed period." He would prefer if no more attention came his way while in town.

Secluded sounded good to him. In case mysterious Dude turned out to be something else, it would be best if nobody else was around when things went down. He looked around and then motioned his head to the alleyway nearby.

Alleyway. How very...cliche. Sherlock nodded anyway and moved into the alley quietly. American's and their constant need to prove themselves, especially loud alpha males. Oh well, this shouldn't take that long.

Dean eyed the mysterious Dude before following cautiously after, wary of any possible tricks.

"Are there going to be any rules or is this just an unsophisticated American brawl?" Sherlock turned to look at Dean, as he took off his suit jacket, unbuttoned the first few buttons of his shirt and rolled up his sleeves. No point in pretending anymore and he spoke with his usual British accent.

Rules? Who the hell made up rules to a fight? You just kept punching until someone was unconscious. "British huh?" Dean remarked absently. "Rules are for pussies who don't know how to fight and surely someone such as yourself can handle themselves. Or are you just all talk?"

Sherlock rolled his eyes. He was getting bored with this American's arrogance, it was annoying. Never mind that he didn't have any room to talk. He was about as arrogant and cocky as they came. "Fine, no rules then." Without warning he lunged forward and tackled Dean to the ground.

Dean hit the ground back first with a slight grunt. He should have seen that coming. He rolled them, so he would have the advantage of being on top.

Sherlock had expected the move and simply let it happen. Let the American think he had the upper hand. It was easier to defeat an opponent when they had a false sense of security.

This was a little too easy. Dean wasn't going to let it go to waste though. He pressed his knee in the mysterious British Dude's stomach and swung for the jaw below.

The knee in his stomach left Sherlock a little winded but he managed to block the blow to his face with his forearm. His free hand reached down to grab the large knife sheathed to his ankle.

Dean recognized that move all too well. He rolled back on his heels a bit, maintaining as much pressure with his knee so the man below him wouldn't be able to move much still. He grabbed Sherlock's wrist as the hilt was snagged.

Sherlock smirked a bit but managed to yank his hand free because the American had left his torso open. The hand that had blocked the initial blow came in contact with Dean's side in a swift jab, nothing terribly powerful but it was still an effective maneuver.

Shit. This guy was better than he had given him credit for. Dean let go of the hand but maintained his position on top. He pressed his full weight into the man below him. "Cheater," he growled out and now both hands worked to get the blade out of the mysterious British Dude's grasp.

"No rules," Sherlock reminded Dean, as another smirk etched his lips. The American was strong but he was still certain he would be able to overpower Dean.

"Cute," Dean ground out through gritted teeth. It occurred to him, that if this was something not human something would have happened by now but this Dude was seriously pissing him off right now and he was determined to show Sherlock who was boss.

It was hard to get leverage with a knee pressed into his gut but Sherlock quickly found another opening. With both of the American's hands fighting for control of the knife, it left Dean susceptible. He used his free hand to grab the American's shirt and push the man on top of him back enough to be able to knee Dean in the groin.

Fuck, that hurt. Dean's grip loosened as he coughed. Well, he had wanted no rules. However, he had endured worse in Hell and he managed to continue straddling the mysterious British Dude.

After a few tries, Sherlock was able to wiggle his wrist free of Dean's grasp. Despite the American's perseverance, he could tell he had done some damage. With a forceful shove of both hands and using his feet to shove up off the pavement for momentum, he forced both of them into a somersault that resulted him being on top now. He pressed the knife to Dean's neck, with a slight smirk.

For the first time, Dean had been thankful for his time in Purgatory because it made him a better hunter. Gave him a better reaction time. A better fighter. A better killer. He matched the mysterious British Dude's smirk. He grabbed Sherlock's wrist again and used the taller man's weight to shift the wrist the and the man on top of him slightly sideways. Enough to get the tip away from his neck anyway.

Sherlock narrowed his eyes but the smirk got bigger. Impressive. He decided not to fight the jerk and instead moved with it. Since neither were willing to release their grip, they both ended up standing from the forced movement.

Dean pushed the mysterious British Dude's back against the alley's wall. They were still fighting control for the knife. Their bodies were pressed closely together and they were both breathing heavily. This shouldn't be so...erotic or maybe he just spent too much time in Purgatory. Or he was slightly drunk. A combination of both maybe. Either way, he leaned in to kiss the man he was pressed against. He was pleased when the other man didn't pull away this time.

What was he doing? Did it matter? They both obviously needed this. Sherlock tentatively returned the kiss, not entirely sure what was he doing since he had never actually kissed anyone before. Despite their lips now touching, they were still fighting for control of the knife and that made him smirk yet again.


	4. Chapter 4

Author's Note:

It looks like people are reading this and this makes me happy. Things escalate rather quickly this chapter...

* * *

What had gotten into him? He was kissing a mysterious British Dude. He was kissing a dude, period. Awesome. However, Dean had to admit it wasn't that half bad. Eventually he pulled away from the kiss panting slightly. Between their kiss and the fight, he was feeling a bit winded.

Sherlock took a deep breath and eyed their hands. Dean's hand still had his wrist pinned to the alley, brick wall but they had ceased any real struggle. He wasn't really sure what to do next so he was quiet a thoughtful moment. "Draw?" He muttered. Usually he liked to win at everything but right now his mind was far too muddled.

Dean smirked but dropped the mysterious British Dude's hand. "Fine." He eyed the man he had kissed twice tonight already and then raised his eyebrows suggestively. "Reconsidering the hotel yet?"

Confusion creased his features but it slowly dawned on Sherlock what the American had meant. It wasn't a very good idea but he ended up nodding his head in agreement anyway.

Dean frowned. "If you don't want to, we don't have to Dude." He studied the mysterious British Dude again. A slow, knowing smirk twitched on his lips. "Holy shit! You're a virgin, aren't you?" He leaned in close to whisper in the taller man's ear, having to stand on his toes a bit to reach. "I can fix that for you."

Sherlock didn't think his lack of sex life needed 'fixing' but all he could do was nod again. "Less talking, more..." He trailed off, trying to find the right word and when that failed he used the only word he could think of, "...more doing..."

Dean grinned. "A man who knows what he wants, I like that." He grabbed the mysterious British Dude by the wrist and dragged the other man out of the alleyway with him. "Okay, Sir-Maps-Alot, where is the nearest hotel?"

'Sir-Maps-Alot'? Sherlock snorted but couldn't help but smirk. "What happened to calling me Sam?" He took a deep breath and a moment to orient himself before he began leading them through the city.

"Dude, Sammy is my baby brother. Calling you at this point would just be..._wrong_." Dean followed after the mysterious British Dude without a second thought.

Sherlock led them to their destination easily. Money wasn't really a problem for him, despite he had no real source of income. It helped that he had fraudulent credit cards. With a fake identification and credit card, he paid for a room. By the time the staff figured out the transaction hadn't actually gone through, he would be long gone.

Dean might have been out of the game for a little while, but could spot fake credentials from a mile away. Tools of the trade for a hunter such as himself. Curiouser, and curiouser. He followed after the mysterious British Dude once more, smirking a bit because he was the one holding the wrist and just kind of being drug around anyway.

Sherlock found the hotel room with no trouble and once they were both inside, he turned to face Dean. He shoved the door closed by pressing the American against the door. He was still feeling rather aggressive from the fight, and he roughly met the other man's lips. He pressed into Dean with an assertive growl.

Jesus. When had mysterious British Dude become some confident? Dean didn't mind, it had just come as a surprise. Looked like tall, dark and handsome wanted it rough. He could do that. He smirked as he returned the kiss, biting the bottom lip just hard enough to draw a small trickle of blood.

Biting. That was new and even though their saliva exchange now had the faint taste of copper with it, Sherlock found he rather liked it. He wanted more. Biting. Scratching. And a lot of other things his mind couldn't keep up with because it was in a sensory overload. God, his brain just wouldn't turn off at all the possible things that could happen. His body writhed into the American in desperate and needy lust.

Okay, so maybe mysterious British Dude wasn't a virgin because no one could possibly be _that_ good the first time. It was a rather nice and long kiss and Dean had to start breathing through his nose, just so he could get some oxygen in his system because all be damned if he was going to break first. His nostrils expelled hot, short bursts of air onto the other man's face.

Sherlock finally broke the kiss, not because he wanted to breath but because he wanted try something else. Who knew watching John's porn would come in handy? His lips move to Dean's neck where he begins biting and sucking it immediately, looking to leave a mark or two. There was a bulge in his pants quite quickly, and the friction their clothes was causing felt absolutely fantastic.

Dean gave a small gasp and his head tilted slightly to one side automatically. He wasn't usually so compliant in sexual activities but he was rather enjoying things at the moment. It was hard to ignore the erection pressed against his own hard cock and that got him to become just as aggressive as the mysterious British Dude. He wrapped his arms around the taller man, hands slipping up the shirt and began to scratch. He couldn't see, but he was certain he was leaving long red streaks on the skin.

The scratching made Sherlock falter slightly, a throaty growling moan rumbled into the bite marks he had left on Dean already. He lifted his head to smirk at the American, before his lips moved to the other side of Dean's neck, mainly because he had run out of room so soon and needed somewhere else to mark. He would have scratched back, but his hands were on the door to help keep him upright as he continued to lean and squirm anxiously into the American. His fingers dug into the cheap wood for some sort of traction but it didn't really work out. He had to shift his weight slightly, to keep Dean pinned to the door.

For as hot and heavy as things were getting, they were wearing far too much clothing in his opinion. Dean moved his head the other way for the mysterious British Dude. God, was he really going to fuck some guy without knowing his name? It looked like it because he honestly didn't care right now. It wouldn't be the first time he slept with a complete stranger. His fingers left another trail along the back before sliding back out and deftly moving to the front where he began to unbutton the shirt.

Oh right. Clothing removal. Sherlock had somehow forgotten about that part in his seeming insatiable lustful mood. He removes one hand from the door and his fingers fumble with Dean's pants. It wasn't as easy as the American made it seem and he head to stop sucking on Dean's neck to look down at his hand.

Dean smirked and once he had worked the shirt of mysterious British Dude's shirt, he batted the hand away from his pants and did it himself. This was his chance to take control. He moved forward, stepping out of his jeans as he did so without a single slip. He forced them to bed and once there took no time at all in straddling the man's hips.

Sherlock let his shirt fall to the floor haphazardly. For a moment he is puzzled by his hand being removed and before he even realized it, he was on his back on the bed with the American on top of him. He stared up with Dean, a smirk twitching on the tips of his lips. Since the man above him was still wearing a shirt, he grabbed it roughly and pulled the American down for another abrasive kiss.

Even being on top, he managed to lose control. Dean smirked into the kiss and, then began sucking on the bottom lip. He leaned heavily into the man below him, causing him to moan slightly. He quickly undoes mysterious British Dude's pants. He wasn't sure how much longer he was going to last, because he could already feel the pre-come making his boxers sticky and wet.

Sherlock growled into the kiss excitedly, his hips lifting as he felt Dean taking his trousers off. He kicked them off, once they were at his knees. Now only a thin layer of fabric kept their cocks a part and the friction felt even more amazing. He moaned into Dean's mouth as he let go of the American's shirt. He tugged at the coat impatiently before he finally came off and then the shirt.

There. Much better. Dean pressed his now bare chest in the mysterious British Dude's with a slight shiver anticipation. He broke the kiss this time, inhaling large gulps of air. In his haze of arousal he had a rational thought. Dry fucking a dude wouldn't exactly be cool. No lubricant. "You have got to be fucking kidding me," he groaned. In frustration, he decided to give the man below him a taste of his own medicine and began making red marks all over the other man's chest.


	5. Chapter 5

Author's Note:

So, this fanfc isn't turning out entirely like I thought it would. It was originally just supposed to be a romance/fluffy/smut type fic thing but I thought of this story arch I want to do and...well...yeah...

* * *

Confusion overtook Sherlock. It was the first time Dean had said anything since entering the hotel room. What? Had he done something wrong? Except now the American was leaving marks all over her chest. Things had certainly escalated quickly between them, but he didn't mind one bit. He deserved to do something for himself while in exile, didn't he?

Dean wasn't sure what they were going to do now because at this rate, but he supposed some sort of sexual release was better than nothing. He stopped his biting kisses, his head lifting marginally to peer up at the mysterious British Dude. The man had practically stopped moving. "Hey Mister Thinks Too Much, you still into this or what?"

Sherlock blinked. Even when extremely aroused he could get distracted it seemed. He gave Dean a faint smirk and nodded. He had rather liked the scratching on his back, maybe the American would like it as well. He wrapped his arms around Dean, fingers scratching harshly almost immediately. He bucked up into the American with no real rhythm, simply desiring for the fantastic friction to return.

Dean gave a small hiss from the scratches but didn't pull away. He bent his head into mysterious British Dude's neck and resumed leaving large red marks on the other man's skin. With no real pace, he was certain he was never going to get off. "Dude, relax a little." His voice was mostly muffled as he spoke into the pale skin. He pressed his body down on mysterious British Dude a little forcefully, hoping it would make the man below him comply.

Relax? With everything going on? Sherlock mumbled an apology and tried to calm down. It was hard to do with Dean being so commanding. Maybe it was because he didn't really know what the hell he was doing, having a little direction was actually appreciated. He never would have considered himself the submissive in any kind of relationship but right now it was probably for the best. With a bit of concentration, he was able to match the gait of the American. Jesus. That felt even more amazing. He turned his head to suck on Dean's ear with a growl of excitement.

Better. Much better. Dean smirked in satisfaction. He was definitely the one in control now. A low moan of pleasure escaped his lips from the mouth on his ear. Between the now constant rhythm and the rather wonderful feeling on his ear, his body tensed and his eyes slammed shut as he came with another moan. Christ. He usually lasted longer than that but maybe it had been so long since he had done much of anything. Fucking Purgatory. He should probably help mysterious British Dude finish and the only thing he could think of to help at this point would be a hand job. Awesome. Touching another dude's dick. Despite everything that had just happened he was still struggling with his sexuality. Just don't think about it. He ignored the discomfort of the mess in his boxers for now, sat up and shifted down a bit. He took a deep breath and removed the underwear. Tightie-whities. Why wasn't he surprised? He smirked a bit at his thoughts and after a brief hesitation he wrapped his hand around the cock and gave it a few tight strokes.

When Sherlock felt Dean's body tense, he had stopped teasing the American's ear to watch the other man climax with a mild fascination. For a moment he thought they were done but then Dean took of his underwear. And... He bucked up into the hand with a small whimper. This new sensation was even better than everything else he had experienced tonight. Were sexual experiences always so fantastic? Maybe he should start experimenting with it on a daily basis. He had never even masturbated before, because the inclination and urge had just never been there before. At this rate, he was seriously considering picking that habit up. He murmured a few words of appreciation along with Dean's name as he finally came.

Dean smirked, rather proud, and his eyebrows raised is surprise. Damn right. First time with this man and he gotten mysterious British Dude to say his name. Shit, they hadn't even fucked. Maybe he'd just had too much practice with his hand of late. He wiped the come on the sheets. He was definitely going to need a shower. And a change of clothes. Or at least some new boxers. He got up off the bed and and took off his boxers because the feeling was becoming unbearable.

Sherlock remained on the bed, his mind still trying to process everything that had just happened. He glanced over to Dean and it occurred to him that he hadn't even taken in the American's body until now. Grant it, physical beauty wasn't something that really appealed to him. What an interesting tattoo.

Dean caught the mysterious British Dude looking and smirked. "Like what you see right? Not that I blame you." The smirk faltered when he noticed the eyes on his tattoo. He quickly regrouped and grinned. "You know how it is. You go out with your younger brother, get shit faced and when you wake up in the morning you have matching tattoos."

Sherlock raised his eyebrows. He had absolutely no idea what that was like actually. He was quiet a long time, in contemplative thought. He was debating telling Dean his real name. The American deserved to know he supposed but it was going against everything he had fought to keep secret. "My name is Sherlock Holmes."

Awkward silence. Awesome. Except then the mysterious British Dude said his name. Only, that was impossible. Sherlock Holmes was a fictional character. "Look, I know you think I am another stupid American but if you are going to give me a name, the least you could is not insult my intelligence." To think he had wanted to fuck this guy moments ago. He walked to the bathroom and slammed the door shut.

What the hell had just happened? Dean had seemed to recognize the name, which in itself wasn't surprising given that his face was all over he news in London and had even made international news for being a fraudulent detective who had committed suicide...except...the reaction hadn't been what he had expected at all.

Dean took a long, hot shower. He wasn't sure why he was so upset. He had told the mysterious British Dude he could make up a fake name but Sherlock Holmes, really? He thought the Dude was a little more creative than that. Maybe he just felt entitled to a little honesty after tonight. Except, he couldn't really say anything could he? Considering how smoothly he had lied about the tattoo. The only reason he got out of the shower was because the water had become too cold to handle. He dried off, wrapping the towel around his waist as he walked out of the bathroom.

Sherlock finally got up and off the bed. He got dressed slowly, still in a puzzled daze. He was sitting in one of the chairs the room offered, smoking a cigarette when Dean came out of the bathroom. He raised his eyebrows. "I'm sorry...you seem upset I'm Sherlock Holmes and while my deductive reasoning is top notch I can't figure out why."

Still going with the Sherlock Holmes thing. Awesome. He walked over to 'Sherlock' and yanked the cigarette out the dude's mouth. "I told you, I am not going to jail." He tilted his head to the 'No Smoking' sign on the door. He sat down on the bed. "You're serious, you are Sherlock Holmes? Like the, 'elementary my dear Watson' Sherlock Holmes?"

What? He had never spoken the words before in his life. "I think you may have me confused for another Sherlock Holmes." Only that was impossible. Holmes was a common enough last name but Sherlock was certainly not a common first name. "Who do you think I am?"

Fuck. This just didn't make any sense. Couldn't he go one night without weird shit happening to him just for once? Was this another one of Gabriel's tricks? That couldn't be because that dickless angel got ganked. Except, in his world things that were supposed to be dead didn't always stay that way. "So let me get this straight, you are _the_ Sherlock Holmes? Aren't you supposed to be some old Dude who smokes a pipe and wears a stupid hat?" Dean was going to need to something to drink at this rate. Never mind he had already downed multiple shots earlier.

This conversation wasn't going anywhere constructive and Sherlock found it frustrating. "That's what I keep telling you but I think you have me confused with someone else." His lips twisted sideways in thought. None of this made any sense.

Dean sighed and ran a hand through his hair. "Look Dude...Sherlock...whoever you are, where I come from Sherlock Holmes is a character in a book. Completely fictional." That made him pause. Just where in the hell had he ended up after leaving Purgatory? A sudden panic came over him and he picked up his jacket and pulled out a burner cell phone. He dialed all of the numbers he should be able to reach Sam at it. They all rang through to people who weren't Sammy at all. What the hell?

Sherlock watched Dean in quiet confusion and interest. He hadn't thought the American mentally unstable until now. Because this man was talking about him being a character in a book. That was utterly ridiculous of course.


	6. Chapter 6

Author's Note:

It looks like at least a few people are reading this, so I guess I will keep updating the story.

* * *

Dean sighed, his hand running over his face this time. All he had wanted was to let off some steam by getting a quick score. Instead, he was just as stressed as before, if not more so. He was going to need to make a supply run and do an extensive Internet search. Would he ever see Sam again? What about his car? His Baby. Of course he would. Hell and Purgatory hadn't held him and neither would this place. Wherever _here_ was. He hadn't quite figured that out yet. No time to brood, there never was really. He was a man of action anyway. He got up off the bed, letting the towel fall to the floor. No point in being modest now.

Sherlock watched Dean in contemplative silence. The American was truly upset and rattled. This wasn't faked. However, just because Dean believed in whatever delusional world the American had slipped into didn't make what was said true. Science and facts were his life. Except...Dean wasn't suffering from some delusion. He had met many people inhibited by a mental disorder and the American exhibited none of the tale-tale signs. 'When you eliminate the impossible whatever remains however improbable must be the truth.' He had told that to John once and no matter how ridiculous everything sounded right now it was all he had to go on. "Tell me about where you came from. Where I am apparently a fictional character." He had drawn his feet up on the chair, knees to chin and his fingers steepled under his chin.

Dean had momentarily forgotten Sherlock was there, that the voice had startled him. He turned to look at the British detective. How the hell was he even comfortable sitting like that? Especially with such long and angular limbs? Focus damn it. He waved a dismissive hand. "I don't have time to explain."

Sherlock frowned thoughtfully, his lips gradually turning into a pout. "Fine." His interest truly being piqued, something that didn't have often these days or period really. He was supposed to be concentrating on hunting down people in Moriarty's network anyway. He sighed at the thought and was quiet for another long while. "Thanks," he finally muttered. "For..." He trailed off and gestured to the bed with his hand.

Dean smirked and shrugged. "It wasn't just for you hot stuff." He went about picking up his clothes and putting them back on, except for his boxers. He would wash them later. He didn't really like having that much freedom down there but there wasn't a lot he could do about it right now. So, if this wasn't the world he'd come from where was he? A parallel world? It wouldn't be the first time that had happened. He and Sammy were a television series in another plane of existence. The question was, how had he ended up in this one and not his own? Had something gone wrong when he had stepped through the portal with Benny hitching a ride? That meant he would have no contacts. No real way to get money, without getting a normal job and that _wasn't _happening. He turned his attention back to Sherlock with his most charming smile. "I don't suppose I could use one of the fake credit cards you are carrying?" As much as he didn't want to, he was going to need the British detective's help at least for a little while.

Once more Sherlock watched Dean in silence. His eyebrows rose at the question, a slight smirk on his lips. It would be easy to deny he had fraudulent cards but if the American had already figured it out he didn't see the point. "I won't give you any but if you need to make a purchase of some sort, I suppose I could be persuaded to help you out." That would mean going to a store and he loathed the thought. Shopping was always so boring.

"Is that a yes? Or are you coming onto me Holmes?" Dean smirked a bit. He was tempted to find all kinds of new ways to 'persuade' the British detective but he didn't have the time right now. "Come on, let's go. I'm in a hurry Dude." He clapped his hands together once, hoping it would get Sherlock to get up and go.

Sherlock frowned, not understanding what Dean meant at first but when he did, his eyebrows raised slightly with a slight smirk. "No, that hadn't been my intent." He tried to think of something clever to say but flirting wasn't really his area. In fact, most of the things that had happened weren't his forte. "Is there a reason you are in hurry? Are you worried that wherever you came from isn't going to be there when you get back?"

The words hit Dean like a brick wall. That was _exactly _what he was worried about and with good reason too. The thing that worried him the most was that no one was there to protect Sammy. To have his younger brother's back. That was his job damn it and right now he was failing at it miserably. He shook off the brooding thoughts before they could consume him. "Seriously Holmes, let's go." He walked toward the door to make a point.

Sherlock sighed but got up anyway. Dean sure was impatient. Why did the American keep calling him 'Holmes?' It was strange to hear but he didn't bother trying to correct the other man. It was better than being called 'Dude' all the time. "Depending on what you plan on buying, with my money I might add, we are going to need to procure a vehicle as well." He followed Dean out of the hotel room.

"First of all, it isn't your money. Second of all, who the hell uses the expression 'procure a vehicle?' And thirdly, don't worry about it. I can 'procure a vehicle' for us." Dean smirked as he mimicked Sherlock. He led them out of the hotel and it didn't take him long to find a car he could steal. "Come on, get in. Try and act natural Holmes. If end up in jail after all, I _will_ kick your ass." It wasn't the Impala but would do...for now. No vehicle could compare to his Baby.

Sherlock snorted but got in car. "I'm not an idiot and it isn't my first time engaging in illegal activities. Here, I'll even use a seat belt. Wouldn't want to get pulled over." He rolled his eyes and stared out the window to pout as the car began moving.

"Can you talk like a normal person, just once? 'Illegal activities?'" Dean shook his head and after a moment of driving realized he had no idea where he was going. "Hey walking and talking GPS, where the hell is the nearest store? Y'know like a super Wal-Mart or something."

"I'm sorry I like sounding educated unlike _some_ American high school drop out." Sherlock turned his attention to Dean with a smirk but it quickly turned to a scowl. He gave the American the quickest route anyway.

"That's real clever Holmes. Real mature of you." Dean didn't care if he was acting just as childish as the British detective was. He managed to follow the directions given, happy the store wasn't that far away. He parked the car, got out and slammed the door shut behind him.

"Your the one who keeps calling me ridiculous names," Sherlock muttered as he got out of the stolen vehicle as well. "Are we going to need a basket? Just how much stuff do you plan on buying?"

"A basket? You mean a shopping cart? Yeah, I am going to need one of those. You just push it around and let me worry about what goes in it." Dean brushed by Sherlock, with a shoulder bump.

Sherlock glared after Dean but got a 'shopping cart' anyway. Was this what it was like to be in relationship with someone? Rough sex acts and then arguing over trivial things? Not that he and the American were in a relationship. He was just helping out a friend. Except, he didn't have friends. He only had one and he vacated himself from life to keep that one life safe. He sighed at his thoughts and pushed the cart in silence.

"For someone with long legs, you think you would walk faster." Dean whipped around to start some more banter with Sherlock but the dude totally looked spaced out. He decided to be a little shit anyway. "After this, you owe me dinner." He smirked and began putting things in the shopping cart.

Sherlock was ripped from his reverie and his eyes narrowed at the back now facing him. "Excuse me? If anyone 'owes' anyone anything, you owe _me_. I paid for your drinks, the hotel and now this." He lifted a hand to gesture at the items being dropped into the cart.

Dean smirked but it disappeared when he heard a small child tell his parents a gay couple were arguing and pointed over at them. He gave them a small, awkward smile and just kept going. No point in trying to correct the child. "Okay Holmes, I'll buy you dinner but I get to pick the place. I need a fucking burger, Dude."

Sherlock had also heard the kid but like Dean had just chosen to ignore it. He eyed the inside of the cart, there was quite a few things inside. "Ah yes American's and their greasy burgers. How very stereotypical of you."

"Damn right it is American of me and I'm damn proud of it. There is nothing wrong with liking a good burger so shut your piehole." Dean glanced back to Sherlock. "You drink tea? Or you above stereotypes?"

Sherlock glared because Dean made a perfectly valid point. It wasn't often he was left speechless. He pushed the cart with a little more force as he pouted.

Dean smirked, knowing full well he had gotten the British detective. "I just need to get a laptop and then we can get dinner. We'll get it to go, because I have a lot of things to do."

Laptop? What was this American up to? Dean had been quiet and dismissive anytime he asked so Sherlock didn't see the point in asking more questions. He was trying to use deductive reasoning but he was calming with a bunch of question marks. This almost never happened and he was certainly curious and then a thought occurred to him. "For someone who isn't in their own world, I guess you would call it, you are adjusting rather well. Is this...something that happens to you often?"


	7. Chapter 7

Author's Note:

I am glad people seem to be taking an interest in this story finally. I'll be honest, I don't really like how this chapter turned out. It is certainly the weakest so far. I don't know, hopefully you guys will like it anyway.

* * *

"You have room to talk." Dean had no intention of answering any questions. Informing people not in the know generally just wasn't a good idea. "I told you that you are fictional character and you haven't tried to commit me to the loony bin, so what does that say about you Holmes?"

Sherlock smirked a bit. Touche. "It means I'm not an irrational person, capable of thinking things through before taking action." Usually, he would just look at the things being bought and would be able to figure out but as far as he could tell there was no real correlation with any of the items. Salt, lots of it. Fire place tools, made of iron it looked like. Matches. Lighters. Gasoline containers. Several flasks varying in size. A large duffel bag. A long hunting knife. He had seen Dean eye the guns as well, but it wasn't added with the other items. With a laptop picked out, it was time to check out. He didn't seem to care about the total and merely swiped the card when the prompt came up on the small machine.

Good. At least Sherlock wasn't asking anymore questions. With the transaction done, he walked back out to their temporary car and put the stuff in the trunk. "All right, food next. I saw an awesome looking burger joint on the way over here."

This was a bad idea. He shouldn't even suggest it, but before he could stop himself Sherlock spoke. "Food later. Give me the keys."

"Fuck no, food _now_. Driving is kind of my thing." There was no way Dean was going to let the British detective drive. They didn't even drive on the right side of the road.

"Dean, I'm serious." Sherlock held out his hand impatiently, expecting the American to comply with his request.

Dean raised his eyebrows. That was the first time Sherlock had spoken to him like that. For the most part it had been just a bunch of snarky comments between the two of them. He wasn't big on giving in to demands but he supposed caving once couldn't hurt. The British detective was certainly serious and it could be important. He handed the keys over slowly.

"Thank you." Sherlock took the keys and then threw a a long, black scarf at Dean. "Put that on over your eyes" Expecting the American to comply once more, he got in the car.

This Dude was kidding right? "No," Dean muttered as he slid in next to Sherlock. "Tell me what the hell is going on. Why all the sudden demands?" A small smirk touched his lips. "Or is this some kinky, sex thing?"

"Why should I offer you answers when you have given me none?" Sherlock replied cooly. If this stubborn American was John, there wouldn't be so many questions. But it wasn't the doctor. He shut the door to that thought process before it could snowball on him. "I want to take you somewhere, but I prefer if you didn't know the location." He decided to ignore the last comment Dean had made.

Dean raised his eyebrows. "Still going with the mysterious thing I see. Okay Holmes, I'm trusting you on this. Don't make me regret." This was a stupid move. There was no real reason not to trust Sherlock but there wasn't any reason to trust the British detective either. However, the Dude had been pretty cool about everything going on without answers. He tied the scarf around his eyes. "Where the hell did you get this thing anyway?"

Sherlock relaxed a little when Dean finally put on the scarf on. It hadn't taken as much persuasion as he thought it would. "I got it while we were shopping," he explained simply. He started the car, drove longer than was necessary and then finally reached the destination in mind. He stopped the car in front of big storage shed. "Don't take it off yet. I'll tell you when." He got out of the car, opened the trunk and took out the large duffel bag. He moved over to the large sliding door that had three separate locks. He undid them all, and slid the door up. He walked back to the car, over to the passengers side and opened the door. "Come on." He helped Dean out of the car, and into the storage unit. He turned on the lights, slid the door back down and finally removed the American's blindfold.

Awesome. So they weren't talking now it seemed. It wasn't an uncomfortable silence per se but the drive seemed to take forever. There wasn't even any music playing. When the car came to a stop Dean was about to take the scarf off when he was told not to. He sighed and rolled his eyes, even though Sherlock couldn't see it. He listened to the sounds going on around him, trying to figure out what was going on. He followed the British detective, not really liking having to trust someone this much. When the scarf finally came off, he squinted a bit as his eyes adjusted to the bright fluorescent lights beaming down on him. Whoa. What the hell was all of this? Fucking awesome, was what it was. There were all kinds of weapons on the wall. Guns, knives, swords, grenades, rope, darts, pipes, filled vials, empty vials and a bunch of other stuff that he probably hadn't even noticed yet. Basically a small arsenal. Most of the stuff probably wasn't legal. He turned to look back at Sherlock. "What are you, a Goddamned British Rambo? Where the hell did you get this stuff?"

Sherlock had acquired most of the things from his brother. Having an older brother in the British government was definitely useful at times. He was taking down dangerous men and women and he wasn't going to go in unequipped. Instead of answering the question, he shrugged. "It doesn't matter. I saw you looking at the guns at the store. Thought maybe you would want to stock up. Feel free to take whatever you want, I can get it replaced." He threw the duffel bag he was holding at Dean. Bringing the American here wasn't a good idea, but he hadn't seemed capable of a rational thought since meeting the other man.

This was the equivalent of Christmas for Dean. He handled various weapons, testing the weight and feel in his hands. He turned to Sherlock with a crossbow in his hands, eyebrows raised. "Really Dude? Do people use these things?"

Another shrug. "I haven't used one yet but I like to be prepared. You never know when you will need one." Sherlock sighed. He didn't like all the things being man handled. "If you feel the need to touch everything, make sure you don't drink anything from the vials. Most of them are poisonous."

"Yeah, in case you get teleported back to the 1700's it will be useful then." Dean smirked a bit, but put the crossbow back. Actually, considering how fucked up his life was, that wasn't impossible. It wouldn't be the first time he had time traveled. He took the crossbow off the wall again and put it in the bag. The British detective was right, better to be prepared.

"Do you even know how to use one of those?" Sherlock shook his head. "Are you done yet?" Despite his last question, he grabbed a bag for himself and began compiling things. He wasn't sure when he would be back here next or what would be needed. Something serious and possibly important was going on. He wasn't entirely sure what 'it' was, but it certainly had his interest and he was determined to be a part of it, even if the American wasn't telling him anything.

"How hard can it be? Point, shoot, reload." Dean stopped putting things in his bag to watch Sherlock. "Dude, what are you doing? I appreciate the help, but after dinner we are going our separate ways Holmes." He couldn't afford any distractions. He couldn't let another person in. It would be a death sentence. He didn't need any more guilt.

Sherlock glared at Dean. "Who says I was coming to help you? I have my own shit to worry about." That was true enough. He threw a sheathed knife into the bag. "Fine!"

Dean copied the British detective. "Fine! Guess I'll see you around!" He closed the bag, slung it over his shoulder and bumped into Sherlock purposefully as he passed the taller man. They were worse than five year olds, weren't they?

Sherlock grabbed Dean by the arm, halting the American mid step. Their eyes met, intensity in both of them. Then they were kissing, his back pressed into the nearest shelf. Why did this keep happening? Was the only way they knew how to relieve stress and tension was to resort to... It was hard to keep thinking, because the kissing had become rather aggressive and they were both biting and it was sloppy, yet wonderful.


	8. Chapter 8

Author's Note:

This chapter took me a bit of time to write, because I spent way more time than needed trying to decide who would be more dominant and I came up with this…so...

* * *

What was it with them? One minute they were ready to fight again and now they were kissing...again. What the hell kind of relationship was this? Not any kind of relationship, that's what. This was just an easy way to relieve stress. At least that was what Dean told himself. He finally broke the kiss, panting a bit. "Do you have lube in this place?" His voice was rough with need.

Lube? Sherlock didn't quite understand the question. Why would the American ask about that? It seemed an odd thing to ask, and his eyebrows furrowed in confusion.

Dean groaned. "You're kidding me right?" Right, this dude really was a virgin. Well, sort of no thanks to him. He grinned at the thought. He patted Sherlock in the shoulder with more force than necessary. "I'll be right back Mister Never Been Laid." There had to be something in here they could use. After a moment of searching, he found a medical kit that had some Vaseline in it. It would have to do. He walked back over to the British detective, the dude still looked totally lost. "You ready to do this hot stuff?" He twirled the jar of petroleum in his hand.

Confusion was still written on his face as Sherlock watched Dean walk away. Usually he knew exactly what was going on, but ever since this American came along, he felt like he didn't know a damn thing at all. It was irritating. "Ready for...?" He didn't like asking and he was certain Dean would mock him and make a snide comment about it.

"Dude, seriously. You need to get out more. I promise, I'll be gentle. Well, maybe." Dean smirked. He really didn't have time for this. Hunters and relationships just didn't go together. He should be out there figuring this shit out, but still he lingered with this British detective.

Finally realization came to Sherlock and he raised his eyebrows, a slow smirk tugging at his lips. "What makes you think I'll let you?" He advanced on Dean and swiped the jar of Vaseline from the American. "I'll make you work for it." He was slowly backing the American into a wall.

"Oh, you want a little foreplay. I guess I can dig that, but I don't play nice." Dean smirked again and grabbed Sherlock by the shirt roughly, causing the top button to go flying through the air. His other hand reached for the jar of Vaseline, but damn the British detective for being so fucking tall. He couldn't quite reach that high, because as soon as he tried to take it back Sherlock had raised his arm.

"You are going to have try harder than that Dean-o." Sherlock matched Dean's cocky smirk. He used the momentum of being pulled forward to his advantage and stumbled with the motion, so that he now had the American backed against a wall, with almost his full weight on the other man.

Dean-o? Oh _hell_ no. "Dude, that isn't going to work for me. Never call me that again. Seriously, I will end this so fast." Once he could get unpinned from the lanky form of the British detective and the wall. He pushed against Sherlock's frame but gravity was working against him right now.

Sherlock smirked in triumphant. "Stop calling me 'Dude' then...Dean-o." Now he was just pressing the American's buttons, just like Dean had his. Turn about's fair play, after all. Mischief danced in his eyes as he stared down at the shorter man.

That was it. Dean used the wall he was pressed up against, to shove off of with a small growl of frustration. He tackled the uppity Brit to the ground. He heard the jar of Vaseline clatter on the floor but right now he was more focused on making Sherlock pay. He pressed his full weight into the man below him, his knee forcing the other man's legs apart.

Sherlock smirked, he had expected Dean to retaliate as such. However, there was no real to cushion his fall while tumbling backwards so he landed with a small 'oomph' that left him a little breathless. He reached up and pulled the American by the shirt closer. Their lips met in another sloppy kiss, his hips bucking up into the man above him roughly.

Dean bit Sherlock's bottom lip, the moment the kiss started. "Stay still," he growled. He was determined to have complete control this time around because damn it, the British detective deserved it with every retort and snarky comment.

Sherlock stared up at Dean defiantly. "Make me." He bit the American back, as the aggressive kiss continued. He rocked into the man above him again, just to see how much he could get away with. He didn't mind submitting, really but he was going to make Dean work for it. What fun would it be otherwise?

Dean glared down at Sherlock. "You want to go that route. _Fine_." The scarf he had discarded on the ground after removing it caught his attention. He reached over, grabbed it, took the British detective's arms and tied them above the Dude's head after a little bit of a struggle. He could Sherlock was holding back some, because it had been a little too easy. He smirked down at the man on the floor knowingly.

Sherlock smirked back and wiggled his tied wrists. The knot was tight and well made. He wasn't surprised in the least. Unless he purposefully dislocated his wrist, he wouldn't be able to get out the binding scarf. "Looks like you got me where you want me Dean-o, what now?" His smirk only got bigger.

"You'll pay for that." Dean slid down Sherlock's body a bit and took no time in removing the the British detective's pants and underwear. First, he was going to make this man squirm and beg for it. See how he liked that. His hand scratched along Sherlock's inner thigh teasingly. "Beg for it Holmes. Come on, you know you want to." When had he become such a control freak during sex? Hadn't this supposed to be just a quick fuck?

Sherlock let out a whimpering moan, his leg twitching from the contact. Beg? _Beg_? _Him_? But it felt wonderful. Bloody fantastic really. Begging wasn't his style by any means, but if made the sensations continue he supposed he could swallow his stupid pride. Maybe he would even be rewarded with something even better. "Please. God yes, don't stop."

Dean smirked. "That's what I thought." His fingers continued their lightly scratching, as his other hand began unbuttoning Sherlock's shirt. Once the British detective's chest was accessible, he began scratching that as well but with much more force and leaving a trail of red marks.

It was getting harder to breath with all the overwhelming sensations that flooded his brain. Sherlock wondered if his mind would go into a sensory overload at this rate. Would begging more incite something even better than what he was feeling now? He was so hard right now and even though he wasn't supposed be moving he couldn't help but squirm in anticipation. After a lot of effort and concentration, he forced his hips to still. "Sorry, excited. Please don't stop."

Dean could only smirk bigger, rather enjoying his current power trip. "Look at you. At my mercy. Begging. Squirming. Tell me Holmes, how does that feel?"

"G-good." Jesus he was stuttering like a child with a lisp. Sherlock never thought he would be here. Not just sexually, but in position where he would be begging with no real power. Considering how much control he liked having in his daily activities, it was actually a nice change of pace. Something he found surprising about himself.

The smirk was the size of the Cheshire cat's at this point, as Dean slid back up Sherlock's body a bit. He stopped scratching the chest, in favor of biting and sucking it. More red marks were left behind, with small 'popping' noises. There was only so much teasing he could stand doing because if he didn't fuck the British detective soon, he was certain he was just going to explode without any real pleasure for himself. Selfish? Probably but he didn't care. He shifted slightly to one side and retrieved the Vaseline.


	9. Chapter 9

Sherlock watched Dean with curiosity. He had a vague idea of what to expect next but it wasn't fully comprehensive. His imagination spared no time filling in the gaps with its sudden wanton thoughts. They made him squirm and he had to force himself still again, fearing some sort of infraction may delay the seemingly inevitable.

Dean just couldn't stop smirking. "Eager," he uttered the single word as he finally got around to taking off his own pants and boxers. He wasn't sure how this exactly worked but he figured he would err on the side of caution and just use a lot of the lubricant. He opened the jar and slicked himself down with a small moan. Now came the icky part. Just don't think about it. He got more Vaseline on his fingers and inserted one finger experimentally inside of Sherlock.

Sherlock just continued to watch, fascinated by the whole thing. It was all new to him and he wanted to experience as much as possible as he could. As soon as he felt Dean enter he took a ragged breath followed by a whimper. With more effort and control than he thought he had, he remained still.

So far so good then. Dean slid a second and then a third finger inside, some excess Vaseline rubbing and smearing around the hole. Probably better that way, he figured. Once he felt satisfied that the British detective was prepped enough, he slid his fingers out and straddled Sherlock. He pressed his firm cock inside with a loud moan, his hands coming to rest on either side of the man below him for some kind of support. Starting a rough pace probably wasn't a good idea for the first time. Maybe he could work up to. For now, he settled for slow but steady pace. "Wrap your legs around me, for a better angle." The words were spoken as command, not a request.

The first thrust left him breathless and admittedly it had even hurt a little but with each passing insertion, the pain ebbed away and was replaced solely with pleasure. With his hands tied above him, Sherlock had nothing to hold onto to stop himself from sliding on the floor. The unbuttoned shirt provided his back some protection on the concrete floor at least. He did as instructed immediately, not caring it was a demand. It was obvious the American knew what he was doing and he intended to maximize the feeling of this first time experience.

Dean moaned again as the thrusts got deeper. Fuck. Why hadn't he tried this before now? It was different than a woman but admittedly a bit better. Probably because the fit was tighter. He leaned his head down and began sucking on Sherlock's neck. He stopped after a bit to speak. "Talk to me Holmes. Tell me how much you like it. Do you want more? Harder? Faster?" He hoped like hell the answer was yes. If this really was the British detective's first time like he suspected, he didn't want things to become too out control. Better to be sure. Jesus. He couldn't remember the last time he had taken someone's virginity. High school maybe?

Talk? How the hell was he supposed to talk when could barely breath properly. Sherlock took several large gulps of air and then exhaled them slowly, hoping that would get his air flow under control. It helped a little, though his words came out slurred together. "...'sgood. Yes...mo' please..." So far he had taken a liking to all the rough and tumble aspects of sex and he figured enduring more of it would be rather fantastic.

Awesome. Dean worked up to hard, rough thrusts to ease the British detective into it. Christ, this felt wonderful. He grunted with each exerted push inside. With the current pace and force, he probably wouldn't last much longer but he didn't even care anymore. This was feeling fan-fucking-tastic and that was all that mattered to him at the moment.

Once more, his breathing became erratic. Sherlock tried speaking to keep the man above him pleased but all that came out was wheezing noise as he fought for air. Each slamming thrust shoved him further up the floor. Part of his shirt had slid up as well, and he could feel the biting concrete on his now bare back. His eyes squeezed shut, his teeth biting his bottom lip. His whole body felt tantalizing numbness, or at least that was the best way could explain it, even though the words effectively meant opposite things. He wanted to make sure the American kept going, in case the pain showed. "...d-don't s-stop..." More stuttering but the words had been an effort to form in between ragged breaths.

Stop? Why the hell would he stop now? Dean wasn't paying that much attention to Sherlock, once the consent had been giving and was more focused on himself right now. He managed to keep up the pace, panting for breath all the while. After a few more rough thrusts he finally came with a loud moan. He practically collapsed on Sherlock as he fought for air as well and pulled out of the other man. Having pretty much fucked the British detective into the ground, he could at least finish the dude off. Even though he was worn out, he idly found Sherlock's cock and began a lazy pace but managed a firm grip.

Even though he hadn't done any of the work, Sherlock was still exhausted. He was sore too. He was certain his back had actually started bleeding and that he wouldn't walk straight for a week. The hand on his cock felt wonderful but at this rate he just wanted to lay on the ground and do nothing. His breathing finally gained some semblance of normality and moved away from Dean's hand. He didn't care about getting off right now. If it came down to it, he could finish himself off later but right now he just wanted all the different sensations on his body to stop.

Dean creased his eyebrows in confusion but dropped his hand to his side. He eyed Sherlock with more curiosity than concern. Oh. Shit. There was a small trail of smeared blood on the floor. "Sorry 'bout that Dude. Guess I got carried away. C'mon." He reached up and untied the scarf binding the British detective's hands together. He stood up and offered his hand to help the other man up off the floor.

Sherlock smirked a bit. "What's the saying...'worth it?'" He didn't really want to get up but he forced himself to with a slight groan and with Dean's help. He should at least try and clean the wounds on his back to make sure they didn't get infected. He was more worried over the fact his shirt was ruined. There was more clothes in one of the boxes but he would worry about that later.

Dean moved around to inspect the damage he had done. It wasn't that bad. The wounds were superficial and not deep. All that was really needed was some hydrogen peroxide and maybe a Band-Aid for the deeper scratches. "Don't move, I'll be right back." He walked back over to where he found the medical kit earlier when looking for some form of lubricant. He brought the plastic container back over to Sherlock.

Sherlock stripped the shirt off and threw it carelessly on the floor. He went to bend over and pick up his trousers but it hurt more than he thought it would. He grimaced but didn't verbalize the pain. He stood back to his full height, because it just wasn't worth the trouble to get his trousers off the ground. Maybe he would just change his clothing ensemble altogether.

Dean shook his head. "I told you not to move Holmes. This is going to sting." He poured the peroxide onto a cotton ball and began to dab it on the scratches, causing the wounds to bubble slightly.

With effort, Sherlock didn't pull away from the cotton dabbing at his back. He still made no sound to indicate he was in pain. "You don't have to do that. I could have gotten," a brief pause, "...Dean-o." He smirked a bit even though the American couldn't see it.

Dean groaned. "Not that again. I thought we had moved passed that?" Since he wasn't looking at Sherlock he let a small smirk touch his lips. He continued to clean the wounds and then applied bandages where they were needed. He moved around the British detective and picked up his clothes off the floor and began getting redressed. Fuck, he was starving. They were supposed to get dinner after the Wal-Mart run but they had gotten...distracted.

Sherlock smirked again. "Not a chance. Especially if you keep calling me 'Holmes' and 'Dude.'" He did an awkward, hobbling walk over to one of the shelves in the storage shed. He pulled out a box and found a fresh pair of clothes. He picked out a silk, buttoned up shirt. Any other kind of fabric would probably irritate the scratches on his back and even the milder ones on his chest. He buttoned the shirt up, leaving the bottom two undone. The red scratches on his upper chest could still be seen, but he didn't seem to care. He found a pair of black trousers and slid them on carefully, leaning against the shelving unit to help keep him balanced. He just wanted to go back to the hotel room and do nothing, a choice he had never wanted to make in his life before now. He had decided that he would just suffer through it. He glanced to the American. "What now?"


	10. Chapter 10

Author's Note:

There is a bit of a surprise at the end of the chapter. Just trying to get this plot going finally.

* * *

"We get some fucking food, that's what. Then I'm taking you back to the hotel and I'm going to do some research on that laptop I bought." Dean picked up the duffel bag he had packed. "Do I have to wear that stupid scarf again, or do you trust me yet?"

Sherlock smirked. "That depends, do you trust me enough to tell me what the hell is going on?" He picked up his own bag with a small grimace. He even picked up the scarf because he already knew what the American's answer would be.

Dean glared at Sherlock and he snatched the scarf from the British detective's hand. He was about to tie the scarf into place when a slow smirk spread on his lips. "You sure you are going to be able to drive? You seem to be in a lot of pain, wouldn't want you to hurt yourself further."

Sherlock rolled his eyes with a sigh. "I'll be fine Dean-o. Now put that scarf on." He could suffer through how uncomfortable it was going to be to drive, if only to wipe that damn smirk off the American's face.

Dean scowled but tied the scarf in place. This British detective was going to drive him crazy. Just like Cas did at times. A brief smile found its way to his lips but it quickly faded. Cas was gone now. Left to die or worse in Purgatory. He cleared his throat and turned quickly, almost tripping over something but he managed to keep his balance after a few moments of flailing blindly and leaning backward.

Sherlock watched Dean thoughtfully but he couldn't help but smirk as he watched the American try to stay sure footed. "Come on, this way." He was still having difficulty walking normally but he grabbed Dean by the coat sleeve and directed them to the exit. He helped the American into the car, put everything away and then closed up the shed. He would probably have it moved again, just in case. He got in the car and it took him a moment to find a position to sit in that wasn't terribly uncomfortable. He was about to drive back to the hotel when he remembered Dean wanted a burger. He stopped at McDonald's. That's where American's went wasn't it?

When Dean felt the car come to a stop and the engine turn off, he took off the scarf without waiting to be told to. What the hell was this shit? "Dude, I want a real burger. Don't get me wrong, when I was a kid McDonald's was awesome but I'd have to eat like five of those things for it be the equivalent of a man's burger."

Sherlock shook his head with a sigh. He didn't understand why it mattered. Food was food to him but apparently this American wanted a specific burger. "Fine, I'm not eating. Go where you want." He got out of the car and then back in but in the back seat. It would let him lay down for a little while, maybe it would better than sitting.

Dean watched Sherlock with raised eyebrows and then shrugged. Instead of getting out of the car and going around, he just hopped into the driver's seat. "Hey, Holmes. Use that stupid genius mind of yours and tell me how to get to the nearest burger joint."

Sherlock smirked as he stared up at the ceiling of the car. "The nearest 'burger joint' is right in front of you. You need only to get out of the car and walk the rest of the way." Laying down was only a slight improvement from sitting.

"Awesome Dude. Thanks for that." Dean started the car. He looked up and down the road as he waited to turn out of the fast food parking lot. A diner to the left caught his eye. He drove to it. If British detective wasn't going to eat, then he was just going to get it to go. He could eat and do research at the same time. It would help waste less time than he already had. He went inside without another word. He ordered a burger, of course, some fries, a large soda and they even had pie. This place was fucking awesome already and he hadn't tried the food yet. Once the order was ready he went back out to the car, munching on some fries.

Sherlock opted to stay in the car. He really didn't want to have to move all that much. He had decided that once he got back to the hotel he was going to lay on his stomach on the bed. Thinking of trying to do anything else just didn't appeal to him at all. He was staring up at the ceiling of the car, fingers under his chin in thought. He barely noticed that the car had started running again.

Dean was happy to eat in silence. He was ravenous but he didn't shove it down his throat, instead he decided to savor the taste of his food over downing it like some kind of animal. He clicked on the radio, because Jesus he had missed music. He found a classic rock station to his liking, fingers drumming along to it on the steering wheel. After a few wrong turns, he found the hotel anyway. He got out of the car with his bag of food and paused when Sherlock stayed in the back seat. "You coming Holmes? Or you just going to stay in the car all night?"

Sherlock let his thoughts wonder aimlessly, tuning out the terrible blaring noise in his ears. What was it and American's and their poor taste in music? Didn't anyone appreciate the classics anymore? He sighed at his thoughts and focused on more important things. He blinked out of his reverie as he heard Dean speak to him. It came as surprise the American was coming inside with him. He thought they were parting ways. Apparently not. He was...relieved actually. Some company was nice. Even if it was Dean Winchester. A wise ass, annoying, American. It made him wonder how John had ever put up with because really, he was kind of the same way. It was a bit surprising the two of them hadn't killed each other. Not for lack of trying though... He smirked a bit and with a slight groan got up and out of the car.

For a moment Dean didn't think Sherlock had heard him. He had become used to the spaced out look by now. "Here." He shoved his food and drink into the British detective's hands. "I'll get everything else. Just go up to the room and I'll be along shortly."

Sherlock was about to argue but didn't see the point. He merely nodded and walked to the lift in the parking garage. He hit the 'up' button, stepped inside when the doors slid open, and rode the lift up to the floor of their hotel room. Once the lift came to a stop, he got out and went straight to the room. He opened the door, dropped the items in his hands haphazardly on the table. He stripped out of his shirt and laid stomach first on the bed. It was a lot better than being on his back already.

Dean was getting the things out of the trunk when he heard a very familiar voice behind him. It startled him and he banged his head on the hood of the trunk. "Damn it," he swore as he spun around quickly. His eyes went wide with surprise because he thought maybe he had been hearing things. Only there was Cas, face to face with him.

"Dean...help...I need you...they are trying...we need...can't stay...Dean come back..." Castiel's words were broken as he flickered in and out existence. He was trying to use his grace to stay and take Dean back, but they wouldn't let him. He disappeared completely, forgetting already what he had just tried to do.

"Cas! Wait! Come back!" Dean was breathing heavily. What the hell? None of that had made sense. He looked around the parking garage wildly, hoping..._praying_ for Cas to return. After awhile it became apparent that wasn't going to happen. "GOD DAMMIT!" He swore loudly, not caring that he had drawn stares. He grabbed the rest of the stuff, mumbling a string of curses as he slammed the trunk shut. He stalked up to the room, preferring to take the stairs to help let off some steam. He practically kicked the door open and threw the bags down in a corner. Just once, just fucking once he would like a break but he knew that would never happen.

Sherlock turned his attention to Dean with raised eyebrows. Something had obviously happened since he had left the American at the car. Should he even bother asking? Dean would probably just brush him off like usual.

Dean waited for Sherlock to say something because he was really looking to pick another fight. Only the damn British detective remained silent. He forced himself to calm down a bit. How was he supposed to enjoy his pie now? Leave it to the universe to say 'fuck you Dean Winchester' when all he wanted was to take a second and enjoy some damn good food.


	11. Chapter 11

Author's Note:

I edited and re-edited this chapter several times and I finally just decided to let it be. Hope you all like it anyway.

* * *

Sherlock studied Dean, maintaining his silence. The American was obviously upset. While he was certainly curious, asking questions hadn't gotten him anywhere with Dean in the past. Also, it appeared some sort of comforting might be in order and that wasn't really his area. He decided not to say anything.

Dean actually appreciated the silence. Initially he had wanted to start another fight but he just didn't have the energy for it anymore. He slumped down in the chair at the table with sigh. Not even one day out Purgatory yet and he was already neck deep in some new shit and he didn't know what the hell was going on. Just another normal day for Dean Winchester. At least he still had his burger and more importantly pie. He wasn't going to let that be ruined for him. He was going to enjoy his food damn it. He could sulk later while surfing the Internet.

Silence it was then. If Dean didn't want to talk, he not only respected the choice but understood it. He could go hours on end not saying a thing when he was thinking about a case. This was a little uncomfortable but not oppressive to the point he felt compelled to actually speak. He closed his eyes, not to sleep, just to try and relax. He wasn't in need of sleep just quite yet. Maybe he would attempt it later later on, give his body time to heal.

Dean picked up the burger and took a big bite. If he hadn't been to heaven already, he was certain this burger was it. Truth be told, the burger was a lot better than anything he had experienced in heaven. Okay. He needed to focus. Push all these emotional, touchy-feely thoughts out his head. They weren't doing him any good. With the burger in hand and a new sense of purpose, he stood up and grabbed the box that held the laptop. In hindsight, it probably hadn't been a good idea to throw it. Hopefully the Styrofoam would keep the computer safe. He opened it up and he glanced over to Sherlock. Here went nothing. "What do you know about parallel worlds?"

Sherlock turned his head so he could look back at Dean. Parallel worlds? If this American was from someplace where he was apparently a fictional character, then he supposed that made sense. "Nothing. Sorry. Up until now, I've pretty much been a man of science and facts. Perhaps if you told me about where you come from, I could give you some insight or perhaps see something missed."

Dean took the laptop over to the table and sat back down in the chair, placing it on the wooden surface. As he waited for the thing to set up, he took another bite of his burger. He thought about what Sherlock said and shrugged. "Pretty much the same, except you don't exist. Well you do just in the fictional sense. Books, movies, television shows." Another shrug. "I'm not sure how I got here." Tell the British detective about Purgatory? No. Not yet, maybe never. "I was helping a friend get back..." He hesitated as he picked his next words carefully, "...home and that is the last time I remember being in my world. Well, that I _kno_w I was in my world." Another hesitation. "Do you have weird things happen here? You know, UFO's. Demon possession. Just post apocalyptic stuff in general?" He gave his best charming smile, which was pretty damn charming in his opinion, as if to pass off the questions as joking just in case...

Sherlock listened quietly, his lips twitching into a thoughtful frown every now and then. He took a moment to gather his thoughts before speaking. "In my experience? None as far as I know. As I said, science and facts are my life. I would have brushed off anything in the tabloids as rubbish. In light of your appearance, I suppose there could be other unexplainable things that have happened. How do you know that while you were helping your friend you weren't sent here? Maybe you both were?"

Awesome. Of course this Dude wouldn't know anything about monsters or hunting or anything strange. Just his luck. Always starting on square one. The burger was finished and he started eating the pie next. Ah. Yes. Pie. It tasted absolutely delicious, just like he knew it would. He considered what Sherlock said with a shrug. He didn't know for sure. It was more of an educated guess. He pulled out his cell phone and dialed Benny's number. It rang through to a voice mail with a too high pitched female voice. He pulled the phone away from his ear and turned it off before the annoying voice could continue on. Definitely _not_ Benny. "Well, he isn't here with me so it was after I dropped him off." He wasn't sure where to start looking on the Internet but he decided to go with 'parallel worlds' and see what would pop up.

"Would you be willing to try a cognitive interview? It is supposed to help with memory, particularly sensory memory. Visual memory is unreliable in a normal brain like yours, but other senses can help trigger things you didn't even realize you retained. I don't usually do these but, there aren't a lot of options right now." Sherlock shifted on the bed so he was sitting up, wincing slightly. Still sore. Bloody wonderful.

'Normal brain?' What the hell was that supposed to mean? "Sorry, we can't all be genius' like you." Dean muttered the words under his breath. He scrolled through the hits he had gotten on his search, finding a whole lot of nothing. Not anything useful anyway. Mostly just definitions and theories. He skimmed the theories but most of it was just a bunch of nerds talking out of their asses. Awesome. "A cognitive interview, huh? Sure, why not. Why not waste more time on useless shit by talking about our feelings and using a crappy psychiatrist trick."

Sherlock narrowed his eyes. "If you didn't want to, a simple 'no' would have sufficed. No need to be sarcastic about it. You can be an arrogant, stubborn arse sometimes."

Dean raised his eyebrows. "_Me_? Calling the kettle black there, aren't we Holmes?" He couldn't help the small smirk that found its way to his lips.

Sherlock snorted, except he supposed Dean was right. He was about as arrogant and stubborn as they came. "I'm not the one wasting time. Your the one who keeps distracting us...me..." He had tried to cover his initial word choice, but the American had probably heard him anyway.

"Us? There is no 'us' Dude. We're just..." Dean trailed off because he wasn't really sure _what_ they were. He forced his attention back to the computer in front of him. Sammy was better at doing research than he was but he wasn't giving up so easily.

"Just what? Two strangers stressed out and looking for a good shag now and then?" Sherlock hadn't meant to sound so bitter when he had spoken.

Dean's gaze flickered back to Sherlock for a moment and then back to the laptop. He had heard the resentment but he wasn't going to comment on it. He tried a few other searches but still came up empty. "All right Dude. Let's try your stupid memory thing." It couldn't hurt he supposed. "What do I need to do?"

Sherlock got up off the bed with a small groan of discomfort. "Lay down, relax and close your eyes."

Dean smirked. "This isn't going to turn into a sex thing is it?" He just couldn't help himself.

Sherlock sighed impatiently. "No Dean. Now quit being a child and _listen_."

Dean couldn't help but smirk again, but he got up out of the chair and laid down on the bed. "And Dude, again. Kettle. Black. Just sayin'." He tried to relax and he wiggled his shoulders a bit.

"Fine. We are both arrogant, stubborn children. Now, will you shut up and listen?" Sherlock sat down in the chair Dean had been in, clearly frustrated.

"Calm down Holmes. Jesus. Lighten up a little. You know though, you are kind of cute when you get that pouty bottom lip." Dean smirked a bit and then closed his eyes. He relaxed as much as he could and waited for whatever ridiculous instructions Sherlock was going to give next.


	12. Chapter 12

Author's Note:

Another Muse approved chapter. He's seriously what keeps me updating this fanfic so often. And I rather like how this chapter turned out as well.

* * *

His fingers came to rest under his chin, as Sherlock studied Dean in silence once more. "Think back to when you took your 'friend home'. What happened after that?" He had known Dean had been lying but pushing the issue wouldn't have been conducive. He needed the American relaxed with a clear mind for this to work.

"I went to the bar, the one we met at." This was stupid. How was this helping? Dean was about to call the whole thing off when heard the British detective speak.

"Slow down. I need you to _think_ about what happened right after that." Sherlock was doing his best not to lose his patience. Nothing to be gained from it and then it would end up being a waste of time like Dean thought it would be.

Dean sighed. "I don't know Dude." That made him pause. He _didn't_ know. There was a memory gap between dropping Benny off in the body and meeting Sherlock at the bar. Why hadn't he thought about this before? When he tried to access the memory it gave him a headache. "Damn it," he growled out.

Sherlock frowned as he easily read the American's face and body language. Some sort of memory loss. Purposefully induced, no doubt. He began going through a list of drugs automatically. There were a variety and a rather long list. He would need to know other side effects to narrow it down. "Besides the memory loss, have you experienced any other irregularities?"

Dean opened his eyes and they narrowed immediately. He knew exactly where Sherlock was going with that line of questioning. "No." If he got his memory loss from some dickless angel, he was going to find out who it was and gank them. Or perhaps some sort of memory loss spell had been cast on him? He fought furiously to remember but all it did was make the headache worse. Like it was there, but he was being refused access.

"If you want to remember, you need to relax." Sherlock pursed his lips in thought. "I could try hypnotizing you." Although, hypnosis wasn't really a very reliable way to access memories. The American was far too agitated to continue the interview or being hypnotized for that matter.

Relax? How the hell was he supposed to relax when part of his memory was gone? "No, I tried your stupid questioning thing it didn't work." There was no way he was going to let the British detective hypnotize him. The thought made him nervous. He didn't want to reveal anything by accident. He supposed he sort of trusted Sherlock but his own business was just that _his_.

Sherlock sighed. "Fine. Keep being a stubborn git." He got up and was going to lay down to pout somewhere but there was only one bed and the floor didn't look comfortable. He walked around to the other side and laid down, his back to Dean.

Dean watched Sherlock, a bemused smirk crossing his lips. "A what? 'Git?' Is that some British slang for what...an idiot?" He shifted so he laid on his back again, hands behind his head as he turned his attention to the ceiling. Relax. Don't force it. Maybe taking the British detective wouldn't be so bad. He took a deep breath and closed his eyes.

Sherlock didn't reply, he had decided he was going to pout like the child he was often accused of being. He could hear Dean next to him and knew immediately that the American was trying to calm down based off the breathing pattern alone. That made him smirk. He rolled over to look at Dean. "You are still tense," he murmured.

Dean didn't open his eyes but a faint smirk found its way back to his lips . "Yeah, well it isn't easy for me to relax. It's not a luxury I get in my life." He couldn't remember the last time he had been able to take it easy. To not worry about a thing. Since a kid, he figured. Before his mom died.

Sherlock hesitated before speaking again. "I could...give you a massage. Those are supposed to be relaxing..." He had never give one to anyone of course, but he had a basic understanding of the human anatomy.

Dean opened an eye and cocked an eyebrow, that smirk still there. "I knew you were going to try and turn this into something sexual Holmes."

Sherlock scowled. "Fine, forget I mentioned it." He turned his back to Dean again, pouting once more.

Dean shook his head, even though Sherlock couldn't see it. "Seriously Dude, you need to like take it down a notch. Come on...I'll even take my shirt off for you." He sat up, took the shirt off, and threw it on the floor. When had he started casually started stripping for men? He smirked at himself a bit and laid back down on the bed, stomach first.

Sherlock sighed and turned to look at Dean again. The American's back still had red marks from their encounter against the door. "You just like getting under my skin Dean-o." He had known that but shifted and straddled Dean's hips. He was still sore from being fucked into the floor, rather literally, but he didn't move from his spot. He cracked the knuckles in his long fingers and began at the American's shoulders with a firm and moderate pressure.

"Don't act like you don't like it Holmes. You sit and pout but you love the attention. You are an attention whore." Dean groaned in appreciation as soon as the massage started. Jesus. That felt rather wonderful. He pressed his face into the pillow, his body relaxing slightly.

There was a lot of tension between Dean's shoulder blades, so he worked that area first. He stared down as his hands, completely focused on the task. This was going to take more work than he thought it would. What else could help the American relax? "I'm guessing you don't have a lot fun." Not that there was a problem with that. Sherlock couldn't remember the last time he done anything 'fun.'

"No." The reply from Dean was muffled into the pillow but still perceptible. Was Sherlock a fucking masseuse on the side? He lifted his head so his words would be clearer this time. "Where'd you learn how to do this?"

Sherlock shrugged, even though Dean couldn't see it. "Nowhere. This is my first time trying it. It is just basic anatomy. Then I judge just how tense you are and apply the right amount of pressure." He finally loosened up the muscles he had been working at awhile but kept at it, applying a slightly lighter touch.

First time? No way. The dude had to be lying, but that seemed like a stupid thing to lie about. Dean dropped his head back down. "You make it sound so easy," he mumbled into the pillow.

Another shrug. Sherlock didn't think it would be difficult at all and apparently he was doing a good job based on how Dean was reacting. Finally, he had worked out the knot between the shoulder blades. He moved his fingers down to the left side of the American's spine and began to undo the next spot of tension.

At this rate, Dean was certain Sherlock was going to put him to sleep. The British detective's fingers were working wonders on his back and he was gradually relaxing. Not to the point his body was limp but Jesus, he was certain at this rate it would happen. His eyes slipped shut without him realizing it and his breathing slowed as sleep overtook him.


	13. Chapter 13

Sherlock could tell Dean had fallen asleep. What was he supposed to do now? He decided to at least finish the spot he was kneading, least the sudden stopping woke up the American. It was obvious Dean needed the sleep, because quite simply the American had looked like shit upon their first meeting.

After he finished, Sherlock got up gingerly. Mostly because he was still sore and partly because he didn't want to rouse Dean from his slumber. He decided a much needed shower was in order and a change of clothes. He grabbed his bag, a posh suit to his liking, and then headed into the bathroom.

The shower didn't last that long, Sherlock had never been one for standing around doing a lot of nothing for too long. He got dressed quickly, once he was dried off. Tea. He could really use a cuppa right now. He glanced over to the bed as he slipped out of the bathroom, Dean was still asleep. He made sure to have the key card to get back in and left the room. He flipped the sign on the door handle to 'Do Not Disturb' before he made his way down the stairs. He could have taken the lift but he wasn't in any kind of hurry.

How convenient. There was a small restaurant attached to the hotel. He waited to be seated and noticed girls staring at him, pointing at his neck and laughing. He was confused at first but then remembered he probably still had noticeable marks on him from Dean. He was doing a really bad job at not attracting attention but he couldn't help but smirk cockily at the teenage girls still giggling.

It didn't take long to get a table. He should probably eat since he had decided forgoing sleep another day. What was that, his fourth...no fifth day without sleep. He was going to need something to help him keep going. He ordered tea of course and some sandwich or other with chips, well French fries. Stupid American's and their damn slang.

The tea wasn't amazing, but it would suffice. Sherlock ate the food, not really caring about the taste. It was a form of sustenance and that was all that really mattered to him. He finished, paid and went back up to the hotel room. Dean was still sleeping and apparently dreaming about something. He ignored the American's incoherent mumbling and sat down at the laptop still on the table.

Because of Dean, Sherlock had missed out on an entire night to take down the next member of Moriarty's web. He was going to make up for lost time. He logged into his e-mail. One new message. Probably something encrypted from his brother. He would read it later. He hacked his way through a decent enough security system, just not quite good enough. The target was still in town, for now.

Up until now, Sherlock hadn't let anything distract him from his vendetta. There was a lot about Dean that he didn't know or even understand. He was certainly curious and it was like he got to work on a case all over again. The American was proving tough to crack, which pretty much never happened to him. He was truly torn between the two objectives. Maybe he could balance them. It would certainly keep him busy.

Sherlock decided to see if he could find something in common with the items Dean had bought, but it didn't pan out. He sighed, cleared the Internet history and decided to try his mind palace. It was much more reliable than some computer. He had found several uses for salt and iron but neither of them really correlated together.

He was getting frustrated. Sherlock Holmes did _not_ get stymied damn it. Maybe he needed to think outside the box for this. Science and facts didn't seem to apply at all. Not when parallel universes were involved anyway. He left his mind palace in favor of going back to the Internet. He decided to go looking for things that at one time he would have deemed useless rubbish and learn everything he could about the topics.

* * *

Dean started dreaming almost immediately. At least, he assumed it was a dream because Cas was there with him.

"Dean! I thought you would never go to sleep. It is the only way I can commune with you without them knowing, at least for a little bit. I'm also able to maintain my form here." Castiel was truly happy to see Dean but there was no time for a happy reunion. The world was in serious trouble. _He_ was in a bit of trouble as well but that wasn't important right now.

"Cas...what are you doing in my dream? This is a dream, right?" Dean didn't like feeling disconcerted. It had to be a dream. There was nothing around them except what would be best described as a white wash board. Just when he thought his life couldn't get any more weird, something like this happened.

"Sort of. Your subconscious is vulnerable when sleeping and I manipulated so I could talk to you. I don't really have time to explain. I need you to listen to me." Castiel wasn't sure how much longer he would be able to keep a substantial before he would be found out and whisked away. This might be his only chance.

Nothing short of surprise came to Dean's face. "You what...? Excuse me? God dammit Cas! What could possibly be so important?" He didn't like the idea of anyone screwing with his head, even if it was Cas.

Castiel sighed. "Please don't say that." He was quiet for a moment. "I'm sorry Dean, I know you don't like it but really was the only way I could talk to you. Demons and angels are plotting together to take out the humans and take over Earth." They had tried to program him not to think about Dean but something deep seated in him had resisted and he wasn't sure how much longer he would be able fight back.

Of course the world was close to an Apocalypse, when wasn't it? Dean sighed. Awesome. Just what he didn't need. The God Squad and some demon assholes working together. This had Crowley written all over it but what angel would be bat shit crazy enough to make some sort of alliance? "I'd love to help Cas, but I don't know if you've noticed but I'm stuck in another dimension. If you could help me out with that, it'd be awesome."

"I can't." It was true. Castiel had already tried to get Dean back once and that hadn't ended well for him at all. "You will need to find a way back on your own, I'm sorry. You need to hurry Dean. I have to go, I would rather they didn't find out I'm talking with you."

None of this was making any sense. "Cas...who is 'they?'" Dean narrowed his eyes in slow understanding. "Has someone made you their little bitch?"

Castiel was perplexed by Dean's word choice. "I'm not sure I understand. I have to go Dean. Goodbye." He disappeared and made sure to put Dean's subconscious back the way it should be.

Dean couldn't help but smirk. Classic Cas. No. Not again! He had more questions at this point than answers. As the dream faded, or whatever the hell it was, the white wash was dissolved around him. He woke up with a jolt, screaming Cas' name.

Shit. Dean was breathing heavily, sitting upright in the bed. Awesome. He glanced over at Sherlock, who was staring at him with raised eyebrows. "Just a nightmare," he mumbled in way of explanation.


	14. Chapter 14

Sherlock had turned to face Dean the moment he heard the American wake up with a shout. Cas? Hm. Interesting. Should he ask? Persistence might get him somewhere or the question would just be brushed aside like all the others. He decided to go for broke. "Cas, this person is important to you? Yes?"

Of course the British detective would ask. Dean figured it was pointless to lie. "Yeah, you could say that." Maybe he could distract Sherlock. "Whatcha looking up?" He nodded his head towards the laptop as he came to a sitting position on the bed.

Sherlock smirked and shut the lid to the laptop. "How about you answer a question from and I will answer one from you. Tit-for-tat, if you will."

Dean matched the smirk. "The thing is you are _dying _to know about me and I don't really care either way if you tell me." He shrugged a bit. He had enough shit on his plate without worrying about someone else's. "Besides, I pretty much know the important things about you. Watson is your sidekick. Moriarty is your nemesis." Another shrug.

Sherlock scowled at Dean and then immediately tensed at the mention of John and Moriarty. How accurate were the renditions of his life in the American's world? "What _exactly_ do you know about me?" He hadn't thought of asking until now.

That had been the wrong thing to say, apparently. "Just the cliff notes Dude. I've never read the books or anything. You got the wrong Winchester. You want my brother for a full recap." Dean could do nothing more than shrug again. He wasn't sure where in Sherlock's time line he was and he wasn't sure sharing anything was wise. Weren't there rules against telling someone their future or something?

Should he press for answers? Did he want to know them? Perhaps it would be for the best if he didn't. Sherlock sighed and allowed himself to relax a little. "Never mind, don't tell me. Probably better that way." The words were practically mumbled. He was pouting of course, mainly because he wasn't getting any of the answers he wanted.

"Okay, now that we that out of the way. I need my laptop back." Dean leaned over and grabbed the computer.

"It isn't yours. I am the one who bought it, so technically it's mine." Sherlock shoved Dean's hand away.

"Yeah, but you bought it for me. Don't be an Indian giver, nobody likes that guy Holmes." Dean got up off the bed and snatched the laptop off the table before Sherlock could stop him a second time.

Sherlock glared at the American. "You are never going to tell me anything, are you?"

"Probably not Dude. Nothing against you really. Trust me when I say you are better off not knowing." Dean opened the laptop and decided to try a different search. 'Dimensional Portals.' Maybe he could find something there. Cas had said he would need to do this on his own so that meant there had to be a way home right?

Sherlock wasn't used to be the one being left in the dark all the time. Now he knew how John or Lestrade felt when he never shared his plans. He hovered over Dean's shoulder to see what the American would be looking up. The search didn't surprise him really, the amount of links that popped up _did_.

Dean tried to ignore the British detective reading over his shoulder. He scrolled down the list, ignoring all the links to 'Star Gate' since that was movie and he didn't exactly have a Star Gate handy anyway. There were some about mirrors and he decided to check one out. It was common lore that mirrors were often a gateway to another dimension. Hopefully that would also include parallel worlds.

"Wait. Stop." Sherlock was still reading over Dean's shoulder. Mirrors. Portals. He suddenly remember the e-mail his older brother had sent him.

"Would you stop back seating driving? I'm trying to concentrate here." Dean kept scrolling down and doing a cursory glance of the words on the screen until something popped out at him.

"Damn it. Give me that!" Sherlock moved around Dean and snatched the laptop back. He unplugged it and began pacing around in the hotel room with it, one hand busily typing on the keyboard while the other kept the computer balanced.

"Dude, what the hell? I'm trying to find out how to get back home." Dean got up off the bed and he tried to take the laptop back but the British detective kept evading him.

Sherlock sighed. "I am trying to help you, you twat." He twisted away from Dean and continued to type skillfully with one hand. The e-mail Mycroft had sent him had been titled 'Broken Mirrors.' Damn it. He should have read this sooner, then maybe he wouldn't be ten steps behind the American. He decrypted the text and pictures.

_A strange occurrence is going on in your area. I would like you to investigate for me. I know you are 'busy' but just humour me, would you? There is an abandoned warehouse that reported having a bright glowing light and all that was found was broken glass everywhere, mirrors. A picture of a man was taken. We believe him to be very dangerous. Do try not to be careless._

The pictures attached showed the broken glass and a picture of Dean leaving the scene. There was also a location for the warehouse. Finally, something up his alley he could deal with. Did Mycroft know about parallel worlds? He just assumed yes for the moment, his older brother was practically the British Government after all. "Come on. We need to go." He closed the laptop, stuffed it under his arm and left the room without waiting for a response from the American.

Dean stopped following Sherlock, a mixture of confusion and ire on his face. Twat? What the hell did that mean? Some British insult from the sounds of it. He was about to comment on it but it was clear the Dude was too focused on what was on the computer screen. That got his attention immediately. The British detective wouldn't stay still at all and it made it impossible to get behind Sherlock to read whatever had caught the Dude's interest. Leave? What was going on now? Where were they going? He grabbed his shirt and coat and hastily put them on as he chased after Sherlock. "Are you going to tell me where we are going?" It probably wasn't even worth asking since he hadn't exactly been telling what he knew.

Sherlock smirked as he got in the car Dean had stolen earlier. They would probably have to change vehicles soon. It wasn't smart to use a stolen car for more than twenty-four hours. How long had he spent with American? Twelve hours? Fifteen maybe? It wasn't like he had looked at the time when they first met. "Here. See anyone who looks familiar?" He passed the laptop to Dean as he started the car by connecting the wires under the steering column.

Dean was surprised Sherlock was forthcoming with the laptop. He opened it up and read the message and his eyes narrowed when he saw a picture of himself. "Who sent this to you?" He didn't remember that place at all or being there.

"You have your secrets, I have mine." Sherlock smirked again and began driving to the warehouse. Hopefully he would find some answers there because he was tired of all the questions.


	15. Chapter 15

"Fair enough," Dean muttered even if he didn't like it. "So, looks like I am considered dangerous. Do you think I'm a dangerous man Holmes?" He turned to look at the British detective, a smirk twitched on the corners of his lips.

"You _are_ a dangerous man. You just aren't dangerous to me." Sherlock returned the smirk. "You are a killer, that much is obvious. Not innocents though, someone...hell maybe even _something_ that kills others. You have taken it upon yourself to take care of it, but..." He paused briefly before going on, "...anytime you fail you take it personally. You have a lot of guilt, probably over things that were actually out of your control. You are a 'the weight of the world is on your shoulders' kind of man."

"Not bad Holmes." Dean was staring out the window now. He had expected some sort of deduction about him sooner than this, the dude was Sherlock Holmes after all.

Sherlock smirked again. He had deduced out loud without really realizing it. It had been awhile since he had voiced his thought process like that. Being in exile had forced him to keep to himself, not that he minded terribly much. Ordinary people were incredibly boring and irritating.

Dean was fine with silence that had settled between them. He continued to watch the scenery go by out the window. To help pass the time he began drumming his fingers on his leg, singing a Metallic song to himself quietly. He would have turned on the radio but he wasn't the one driving.

Sherlock glanced over to Dean. He wasn't sure what the American was singing, something he wasn't familiar with. Not surprising, he typically preferred classical music. His attention moved back to the road in front of him. After a while of driving, he parked outside the warehouse.

Dean got out of the car as soon as he as the car stopped. God damn it! He had left the bag with all the supplies at the hotel. Should they go back and get them? Only, Sherlock was already climbing the chain link fence. He sighed, jimmied open the trunk to see if maybe something had fallen out or was left behind during their supply run. Awesome. He grabbed the gun laying on the floor. He checked the clip and switched the safety off. He finally followed after the British detective.

Sherlock jumped the rest of the way down, when he reached the top of the fence. He landed in a crouched position, one hand in the dirt. His sharp gaze swept the area as he stood slowly. He didn't hear the American following him, so he turned around to see what Dean was up to. He smirked a bit when the other man finally climbed the fence, gun in hand. He turned back around as he pulled out a torch from his pocket but didn't turn it on yet. He cautiously approached the building.

"Sherlock!" Dean hissed in a whisper but the Dude just kept going. He sighed to himself and continued to follow the British detective. He had the gun up and ready. Did Sherlock have a death wish? Just walking into some place with no weapon? Something that could possibly be a trap? He quickened his pace so he was walking next to the British detective. He put a restraining arm on Sherlock's arm, hoping to stop the Dude.

The moment Sherlock felt a hand on his arm, he twisted and slammed the other person into the wall of the warehouse. Oh. Dean. He smirked a bit and shrugged as a way of an apology. How did they always end up here? Breathing heavily and one of them pressed up against something? Not now. They didn't have time for...extra curricular activities. He released the American, the smirk still twisted on his lips.

Dean wasn't the least bit surprised by Sherlock's reaction and starting a fight with the Dude wasn't worth it, so he simply let himself be shoved into the wall. The look in the British detective's made him smirk back. "Maybe later hot stuff," he murmured as he patted Sherlock on the arm. He moved around the tall Brit and took the lead as they entered the warehouse.

Sherlock shook his head as he followed after Dean. He turned on his torch so they could look around the dimly lit building a little easier. It was quiet. The only noises he could discern came from them. There was glass all over the floor, just like in the pictures sent from his brother. He frowned in thought and looked around at the broken machines. This hadn't been a glass making factory, that much he was certain. So, what was with all the broken glass? He stopped walking and knelt down to take a closer look at the shattered pieces.

Dean was tense. He didn't like how quiet it was. That was never a good sign in his experience. He glanced back at Sherlock. The dude was doing whatever the hell it was the British detective did. He didn't wander far from the other man, but he began his own investigation. He would be looking for things that Sherlock wouldn't know to look for.

Sherlock furrowed his brows in concentration. He held the torch between his teeth and he began moving the pieces of glass around. It was like putting together a five thousand piece puzzle of blue sky, only a bit harder. "Dean." The name came out muffled from behind the torch.

Dean turned the moment he heard his name spoken and he walked over to Sherlock. He knelt down next to the British detective to see what the Dude was looking at. "What? You reassembled some glass, so what?"

Sherlock sighed and removed the torch from his mouth. "You see but you don't observe." He tilted his head up to the ceiling above, the light following his gaze. "A message on the ceiling. It looks like old Latin. I can translate it, but it will take a moment."

Dean looked up at the ceiling, squinting a bit. "It isn't a message, its a spell." Shit. Had he just said that out loud? He had been so careful not to reveal any of the weird shit that was his life.

Sherlock looked over to Dean, a clear look of confusion. "I'm sorry. Did you say 'spell' as in, magic?" That couldn't be possible? Could it? Except, he hadn't thought anything that happened recently to be possible. He slowly nodded his head in acceptance.

Well, the cat was out of the bag now. "Yeah, pretty much. You said you could translate it?" Dean had never been any good at reading Latin, that was what Sammy was for. He could memorize the words to speak for an exorcism or a simple incantation but he hadn't taken the time to learn it in depth.

"Yes." Sherlock pulled out his cell phone and took several pictures before putting the mobile back in his pocket. He stood back up, brushing some of the broken glass off his suit.

"You aren't going to do it now?" Dean got back up as well. He wanted answers now. While he done his fair share of waiting for answers, it didn't mean he liked it.

"No, there are still things we can learn from this place. We only have to look in the right place." Sherlock began to move light beam around the warehouse once more. "You want me to translate, so it means you can't read it but you knew it was a spell, how?"

Dean shrugged a bit. "I've been in this business a long time. I could make out a few words but not the whole thing. More of an educated guess."

"And what business are you in? Where spells and parallel worlds are normal for you?" Was he actually going to get answers this time? Or was he just wasting his time again? Sherlock glanced over to the American. "And if you've been in the business 'a long time' as you put it, shouldn't you know how to read if it appears enough?"

A long sigh escaped his lips. "Look, once you know there is no going back Dude. Are you really sure you want to know? It's a lot of shit to take in." Dean looked back at the British detective, their eyes meeting.


	16. Chapter 16

Author's Note:

Sorry for the delay in the update! I am going to try to go back to updating once a day!

* * *

Sherlock had been trying to get something out of Dean awhile now and he jumped at the chance. "It can't be anymore stranger than what I have already learned."

"The short version: basically...angels, demons, vampires, werewolves, things that go bump in the night are all real. God, Lucifer or any mythological creature you've ever read about most likely exists as well." Dean gave a slight shrug.

"That's it? That's what you couldn't tell me?" Grant it, it was a lot to take in but Sherlock wasn't sure why the American had kept it a secret for so long. "So, if God and Lucifer exist then logic dictates that Heaven and Hell does as well?" That was probably the hardest for him to believe since he had always passed off religion as ridiculous.

"Yeah, they do. God is a fucking asshole though. He just decided to up and leave one day and said 'fuck everyone else.' At least with Lucifer you know what you are getting." Dean gave a rueful smirk. "You are handling this a lot better than I thought you would Dude."

Sherlock raised his eyebrows. "Sounds like you have a problem with authority. Not that I blame you." A smirk. "It isn't surprising either, considering you obviously have issues with your father." The smirk got slightly bigger.

Dean glared at Sherlock but decided against retorting to was was said. "Come on Holmes, we have things to do. World's to save."

"Is something happening where you are from? Maybe just anxious to get back home?" Sherlock was deducing out loud by the time he had finished speaking. He began looking around the warehouse again. The torch light moved along the walls and floor but so far nothing else had been found.

Dean shrugged. "There is always something going on. Someone or something trying to take over. I have a younger brother to get back to as well. Make sure he stays out of trouble." And alive, he added mentally.

Sherlock decided to let the subject drop. He could have deduced Dean some more but the American was already agitated. Usually he wouldn't care but it would making working together a little easier. They annoyed each other enough as it was.

Dean followed the flashlight's beam, as Sherlock moved it around. He was once more thankful for the silence but decide to break it after awhile to think out loud. "I know that picture had me leaving this place but I don't remember shit."

"It is because you are trying too hard. Forcing memories you have forgotten usually doesn't work. I keep telling you, you need to relax." Sherlock kept his ever observant gaze with the beam of light while he spoke.

Dean scowled. "Enough of your psych-mumbo-jumbo." It didn't look like anything of real importance was at the warehouse except for the spell on the ceiling. What was it doing up there to begin with? Left for him to find on purpose maybe? He narrowed his eyes in thought.

"It is perfectly sound psychology." Sherlock returned his attention to Dean. The American was obviously thinking about something. "Remember something after all?"

Dean shook his head. "Naw." He didn't bother to elaborate. "Come on Holmes. Let's go. You need to translate that thing." He turned around and began walking back towards the door.

Sherlock watched Dean walk away through narrowed eyes. Back to secrets again. He sighed and followed after the American. "For the spell to work, does it need to be translated? Or can it work when spoken in Latin?"

Without turning around, Dean answered. "It will need to be spoken in Latin but I didn't want to just start saying it and then something fucked up happen like getting turned into a newt or worse. I'm not really big on encanting a spell that I don't know what it does. That's just common sense Dude." Usually spells required components but he didn't want to take any chances. The rules for spells may not be the same here.

Sherlock couldn't really argue with that logic. He followed Dean back over the fence and smirked as he watched the American get in the driver's seat, sigh and slide into the passengers seat. "You can drive if you want Dean-o." He slid into the driver's seat despite the words he had just spoken.

Dean matched the smirk. "I would, but I don't know how to get back to hotel and as much as I enjoy having my own personal British GPS, I think I will just keep riding shot gun. It's funny, I drive all the time back home." He shrugged a bit and turned his attention to the window rather than Sherlock.

Sherlock wasn't really sure how to respond to that. He could tell Dean was upset but comforting others wasn't something he had any real experience. The only thing he could offer was a sexual release for the stress but he didn't really fancy shagging in a car. Too cramped for his lanky frame. He sparked the car to life and began driving.

Dean decided to break his own rule and turned on the radio. As usual he was fine with silence, he wasn't big on talking but he needed something to help take the edge off a little. The station was still on the same classic rock station he had left it on. Of course, a commercial. He left the dial alone and went back to staring out the window.

Sherlock ignored the radio. He preferred silence over to what Dean considered music but if he turned it off he was worried it would force him to make conversation and he just assumed avoid that right now. He was perfectly fine with letting the American brood. He focused on the words written on the ceiling, or tired to. It was hard for him to focus with that damn music playing. He needed silence in order to access his mind palace. He would just wait until the hotel room then but riight now they needed to get rid of this car. He voiced his thoughts to the American. "We need to get rid of this vehicle and either walk back to the hotel or find another one to hijack."

Dean turned to look at Sherlock when the British detective finally spoke. He didn't like the idea of walking but stealing another car again so soon would be too risky. It would be safer to wait until later. "Walking is fine. It will need to be five or so miles away from our hotel."

"I know that." Sherlock looked around for a good place to dump the car. He opted for an empty lot that was over grown with vegetation with a broken fence surrounding the property. He began wiping down the car to get rid of any fingerprints.

Dean helped Sherlock, making sure to wipe everything inside just in case. He climbed into the back seat while the British detective wiped down the outside and trunk of the vehicle. Once they were done, they fell into step next to each other and began walking down the sidewalk.

Finally. A chance to smoke. Sherlock promptly took out a cigarette and lit up. He inhaled deeply and then exhaled slowly. He offered one to the American.

Dean shook his head. "No thanks Dude. I have enough things trying to kill me I don't need to add cancer to the list."

Sherlock smirked and put the pack of cigarettes away. If John knew he was smoking again the doctor would probably kill him. God, he missed his blogger. He pushed the thoughts aside quickly and continued to smoke the cigarette.

Dean glanced over to Sherlock. The Dude was thinking about something. "Why do you smoke Holmes? You have to know it isn't good for you. You can be an idiot sometimes, despite being a genius but you gotta know."

Sherlock shook his head. "It doesn't matter." He had hard enough time admitting the reason to himself, there was no way he was going to admit it to the American. It reminded him John. The only thing he could do to keep him connected to his old life.


	17. Chapter 17

Author's Note:

Hopefully you all are liking how this story is turning out!

* * *

Dean shrugged. No point in prying further if the Dude didn't want to talk about it. It looked like silence would fall between them again. Not that he minded. Really, they didn't have a lot in common as far as he could tell. They came from two different worlds, quite literally.

Sherlock smoked thoughtfully and when he finished the cigarette, he flicked the butt carelessly to the sidewalk. "Do you think you made yourself forget? Or did someone help you?" He glanced over to Dean to gauge the American's reaction.

Dean narrowed his eyes. "Make myself forget? Why in the hell would I do something stupid like that? If someone made me forget, it is likely they were with me there at the warehouse."

"We didn't find evidence of anyone else there. Then again, someone was in such a hurry I didn't really get to do a thorough investigation of the place." Sherlock pointedly glared at Dean.

"If we still don't get anywhere with the spell, then we can go back and take another look around." Dean gave a small shrug.

Sherlock frowned in thought. "Suddenly not eager to get home?" No that wasn't it. His frown deepened. "You are still keeping an eye on me, aren't you? I am perfectly capable of taking care of myself. Or do I need to get in another row with you to prove it?"

Row? Why did British people have such strange words? Dean got the basic jest of it based on the context alone but that didn't make it any less weird for him to hear. "Look, you don't know how to deal with angels and demons, I do." Of course, right now he was lacking the proper weapons to kill either one. It was something he was still working on.

"I can understand worrying about demons but angels? Aren't they supposed to be the 'good guys' or whatever?" Sherlock was perplexed by Dean's obvious disdain for both.

"Angels are a bunch of pussies Dude. Well, there is one angel and you know, he's okay for an angel. For the most part, I don't trust them. Demons are a bunch of jackasses but at least you know those assholes are going to screw you over every chance they get." Dean heard bells ringing. Was that a Catholic church he heard? Maybe he could get some holy water there. "Hey Holmes, wait up." He put an arm out to stop Sherlock and tilted his head to the church they were walking by.

Sherlock was still confused but from what he could gather angels weren't as friendly as Christian mythos made them out to be. Interesting. His confusion only grew at Dean's sudden interest in the church. "Given your lack of...love...for God and angels, I didn't take you to be the religious type." He raised his eyebrows in question as he looked to the American.

"I'm not Dude. I want to get some holy water. It doesn't kill demons but it can effective." Dean had already decided he was going to start warding their hotel room. Not only from demons but angels. If what Cas said was true, it needed to be done. It would mean no more visits from the angel in the trench coat though. The hand on Sherlock's chest patted the other man a few times. "Come on Holmes."He moved up the steps and through the large wooden doors.

Sherlock still wasn't entirely sure what was going on but he followed after Dean. He couldn't help but smirk at the irony of the situation. Blind faith indeed. The church appeared to be mostly empty. There were probably priests in the confession booths and maybe a nun around somewhere.

Dean wasted no time in walking up front and deftly pilfered a chalice from the altar. The flasks were back in the hotel room, so he had to improvise. He walked back to Sherlock with a smirk. "Just stand there and try to act natural Dude."

Sherlock wasn't exactly the most moral person in existence, but stealing from a church somehow seemed _wrong_. Or maybe having learned that celestial beings existed made him a bit more hesitant about it. It was clear though, the American had no qualms about it. He stood nonchalantly in front of the holy water font by the doors.

Dean only smirked bigger as he filled the chalice. "Don't be so nervous Holmes. If it makes you feel better we can return it later. Now let's get the hell out of here Dude." He stuck the chalice inside his coat as unobtrusively as possible, which was a bit difficult since he had to hold in place.

Sherlock shrugged a bit. "It seems to me if you know certain things exist you would a be a little more..." He trailed off for a moment, with another shrug. "...cautious with your actions is all."

"Dude, after everything I have done and been through, I think God can cut me a little fucking slack. Not that He'd care anyway." Dean sighed, realizing he had sounded just just a as bitter as felt.

Sherlock furrowed his brows. He was certainly curious but prying would just upset Dean more than the American already was so he decided not push the issue.

When Sherlock remained quiet, Dean smirked and relaxed a little. "Thanks Dude," he muttered. At least the British detective wasn't one of those guys who wanted to talk about feelings all the time.

Sherlock matched the smirk and shrugged. He decided to have another smoke before they got back to the hotel. He lit up and smoked it slower than his one, savoring the nicotine.

"You really got the whole quiet and mysterious thing down Dude. I bet a lot of chick's dig that or guys I guess in your case." Dean gave another smirk. "And you know what Dude, no more smoking. Not while I'm around anyway, all right?" He reached over and yanked the cigarette from Sherlock's mouth.

"I'll smoke if I want to." Sherlock pouted a bit and then sighed but didn't get out another cigarette. "You are worse than John." They turned the corner into the parking garage.

"John...? Oh right, Watson. The Dude you live with, yeah? Your boyfriend or whatever." Dean gave an offhanded shrug and then hit the button to the elevator.

"John and I aren't together." True enough. Nothing had happened between them. He had always kept John at arms length, but that still hadn't been enough to keep the cross hairs off the doctor.

Dean walked into the elevator and hit the button to open the door again when Sherlock didn't follow. "Hey, Holmes. Stop spacing out and get in." He pulled on the British detective's arm.

Sherlock blinked, having not heard Dean but felt the tug on his sleeve. He walked forward automatically. It was just best not to think about John right now. He needed to be able to focus so he could translate the message, spell, whatever the writing on the ceiling had been.

Dean hit the floor number since Sherlock seemed to be in La-La-Land still. It wasn't his place to ask, so he didn't. When the elevator doors opened, he stepped out and dragged the British detective forward with another tug.

Sherlock walked forward at the tug. Key card. Right. He had it. He used it and their hotel door opened and he walked inside. He pulled out the complimentary pen and paper the hotel offered, sat down at the table and began to translate quietly.

Okay then. Dean closed the door and decided to let the silence continue. He needed to ward the place anyway. Making the sigils wouldn't difficult but they would take a bit of time. Maybe by the time he was done, Sherlock would be as well.


	18. Chapter 18

Author's Note:

I had a hell of time writing this chapter which is why it took so long to update but I finally got it done. Sorry for the delay!

* * *

Sherlock furrowed his brows as he read the translation. He had been so intent on his task he had failed to notice that Dean had placed...glyphs? all around the room. Most notably the door and windows. "What are those?" He absently gestured to the strange symbols around them.

Dean shrugged. He had finished awhile ago and was now laying on the bed, hands behind his head and a foot tapping impatiently. He looked over to Sherlock when he heard the British detective finally speak. "Some wards to keep out demons and angels." He'd had serious second thoughts about the angel sigils. What if Cas tried to contact him again? He had decided to go ahead and do it since Cas said he wouldn't be able to get him back. Now he just needed to figure out what angel would be stupid enough to work with Crowley. Never mind, at one time Cas had...

Sherlock waited for a more a detailed explaination but it became apparent that the American was in thought. He sighed but kept his questions to himself. He stared at the paper on the table in front of him.

Dean heard the sigh and he looked back over to Sherlock with a smirk. "Sorry Dude. Pulled a you." The smirk grew. He got up off the bed and moved the few paces over to the table. "So, you figure out was it says yet?"

"Yes, but it doesn't make sense. It reads more like a riddle than a spell, but then again what do I know? I'm new at this kind of thing." A thin smirk etched his lips. "What do you think?" Sherlock picked up the paper he had translated on and handed it to Dean.

Dean took the paper and frowned. "Are you sure you didn't get it wrong? This isn't a spell Dude. I don't know what the hell it it is. Looks more like a poem or something." He shrugged with a long sigh. There went their one solid lead.

"It isn't a poem and if it isn't a spell then it is a riddle like I first thought. Give it here." Sherlock snatched the paper back an stared at the words in front of him.

_Gaze upon yourself_

_See the world from another perspective_

_Time and time again_

_Forever repeating_

Awesome. A riddle. Couldn't he just get an easy answer for once? Dean sighed and sat back down on the bed. "Well, come on then. You're a genius, right? Haven't you figured it out yet?"

Sherlock glared at Dean. He had figured out the first half but the second part was . "I need a minute, is that all right with you? I haven't seen or heard one like this before. So, unless you plan on helping me figure out what it says, do shut up so I can concentrate."

Dean rolled his eyes. "Talk to me like that again and see what happens Dude."

"Dean, we've already been down this road. You aren't going to beat me in a fight." Sherlock didn't even bother to look at the American while he spoke. He was still busy trying to decipher what the riddle could mean.

Dean smirked a bit. "The only reason you might have won was because you were using a knife."

"You said no rules. If I'm not mistaken you said 'they were pussies.'" This time Sherlock did look over at Dean, a smirk on his face.

"Whatever Dude, you totally cheated." Dean smirked back. "You want to go another round? Fists only. I'll totally kick your ass."

"Dean, we don't have time for another fist-a-cuffs. Every time we do...other things happen." Sherlock didn't mind them but he was finally on a case that was new and intriguing and he didn't want to get distracted. Something the American was rather good at doing it seemed.

"Excuse me, did you just say 'fist-a-cuffs?' No Dude, just no. Never again." Dean couldn't help but smirk though. "You are worse than Cas."

Again with that name. Mention something or let it slide? Sherlock decided not to comment because he was trying to figure out the riddle. He should have it done by now but as he had already pointed out to himself, Dean was distracting him.

Back to silence it was. Dean didn't really mind. Sherlock was trying to figure out the riddle and he was anxious to get back home. There was a lot going on he didn't understand. How had he got amnesia? What had happened at that warehouse? How had he ended up in a parallel universe? Was Sam okay? What had happened to Cas? How had Cas escaped Purgatory? Who was working with Crowley? Too many questions and absolutely no answers. Awesome.

"I solved the first part easily enough. The first two lines are obviously talking about a mirror. Which makes sense, all the broken glass shattered there came from mirrors. Mirrors are thought to be gateways to another world, maybe in this case it _is_." Sherlock didn't need to be looking at the paper anymore and he put it down on the table. The last two phrases turning over in his mind repeatedly as he tried to unlock the last part of the riddle.

"Great. That doesn't really help us, does it? Say mirrors are a portal, so what? I need to know _how_ to use them." Dean stood up and began pacing in the room. He was agitated and frustrated. The amnesia thing was really starting to bug him.

Sherlock sighed. "The only thing that even remotely makes sense would having two mirrors facing each other. It would effectively make an endless hall of mirrors, but I'm not really sure what that would accomplish or how that helps us figure out how to get you home. You're the expert, any ideas?"

"Dude, if I had an idea we wouldn't be sitting in here talking about it!" Dean hadn't meant to snap on Sherlock but the British detective was an easy target to vent his rage. He collapsed on the bed with a sigh. "Look, I've only dealt with a parallel universe once before and it didn't have anything to do with mirrors. I mean, we jumped through a window but..." He trailed off in thought briefly. "...Windows, cast reflections like mirrors though." Another sigh. "That still doesn't really help, now does it?"

Sherlock was used to people yelling things at him and he didn't even flinch at the out lash. "I think the riddle was meant as clue. To help you remember. Except, apparently it isn't helping you at all because you are obviously still upset about not having your memory return. I'm telling you, you need to relax. I know you think it sounds stupid but it could work."

"Fuck," Dean muttered and then took a deep breath. Calm. Relaxed. He could do that. He just needed to think of something that didn't upset him. It was a little more difficult than he thought it would be. "Dude, give me another massage. I'll try not to fall asleep this time." He smirked a bit at Sherlock as he rolled over onto his stomach after taking off his shirt.

Sherlock raised his eyes in surprise but gave a slight nod as he stood up. "Good, I'm glad you are finally listening to me. You are more stubborn than I am." He gave a slight smirk, even though Dean wasn't facing him anymore. He straddled the American and easily found the tension built up in Dean's back. "Close your eyes and do try to focus this time."


	19. Chapter 19

Author's Note:

This is a bit moving slower than I thought it would but I think it is turning out all right. Thank you so much to everyone who has left reviews/subscribed/favorited this story. It really means a lot to me!

* * *

Dean began to relax as Sherlock started to rub his back. "You should quit your day job Dude." He smirked a bit into the pillow Okay. He needed to focus and try to get his damn memory back. He shut his eyes as the British detective instructed.

"Good. Now, try and regulate your breathing. It will help you relax some more." Sherlock continued to press his fingers firmly into Dean's skin. "Try to think back to when you took your friend home. What time of day was it? What was the weather like?"

Dean was trying to do what he was told but he found the questions being asked stupid. "Does it matter?" He grumbled into the pillow.

Patience was not something Sherlock was good at but he managed to keep a mild tone and not make a snappy remark. "Yes, if you visualize that time then hopefully it will help trigger something and your memories will return." In theory anyways. He wasn't sure if something _else_ was keeping the American locked out or if something specific would need to be done to help get it back.

Dean sighed. It still sounded stupid to him. He was a hunter, he should be out killing a monster not meditating while a good looking British detective gave him a rather amazing massage. He thought back to when he had dropped Benny of at his body. "I was in Louisianan. It was nighttime by the time I dropped him off. We hugged goodbye and then..." He trailed off uncertainly.

"Where in Louisianan are you? The country? A city? Do you hear or smell anything?" Sherlock tried to speak softly so as not to disrupt Dean.

Dean immersed himself in the memory, as he finally relaxed and slowed down his breathing. "A place called Clayton, in the country. It's mostly wooded. I can smell the grass and the trees. It's a little windy. I can hear the windmill turning. I was going to track down Sam after leaving Benny but..."

Sherlock frowned a bit. He wasn't sure if he should try to push Dean further. The American had finally listened to him and was worried prying too much would jar the other man out of the memory. Before he could decide if he was going to ask anymore questions Dean spoke once more.

"I was going to look for Sam but I stopped for a drink, at the bar we met. I was going to check on a cabin up in Montana because none of the numbers I called are in service." Dean shifted uncomfortably and the only thing that was keeping him from tensing up again was the long fingers still working on his muscles. Something had happened, he could feel it. Something tugging at his subconscious, now if only he could capture it.

Sherlock listened quietly, waiting for for more. From what he had gathered, Sam was Dean's younger brother. Benny was a friend, probably a close friend if they had hugged before parting ways. When the American remained quiet he finally decided to speak. "I don't know if you were Kansas before you got sent here but you are in that State now. Obviously, you didn't make it to Montana."

Kansas? Naturally. Nothing _ever_ went wrong there. "So, I what? I Wizard of Oz my way here then?" He had lost his focus and sighed. "I swear to God, if there was a tornado that brought me here, I'm going to punch something."

Damn it. He should have just stayed silent. He had been certain Dean was almost there. "No recent tornado activity in the are that I'm aware of." Sherlock sighed as well and moved off the American and onto the other side of the bed.

Dean rolled his eyes. "Never mind Dude." The British detective was hopeless sometimes. Just like Cas. He couldn't help but smirk a bit at the thought. "So, what now? This trying to to remember shit ain't doing a bit of good."

"Isn't," Sherlock corrected automatically. "I guess we go back to the warehouse. We probably missed something since you rushed me."

Dean groaned at being corrected but decided it wasn't worth starting an argument over. He rolled over onto his side, an arm propping his head up on one of his hands as he looked at Sherlock. "Whatever Dude. You could have said something if you weren't ready to go. Besides, I didn't like being there unprepared. This time we are taking my bag."

Sherlock was a man of action. He was ready to go. "All right. Let's go then. " He got up off the bed and threw the bag on the bed by Dean.

Dean grabbed the bag and did a small hop off the bed. At least the Dude didn't wast time. He put his shirt back on and this time made sure he had everything he would need before exiting the hotel.

Sherlock hot wired a new car for them, a few blocks from where they were staying. He found the warehouse again easily enough. The only problem was now it was a fiery inferno. Whatever had been there would be lost now. The sound of sirens made him think twice about getting out of the car. Instead, he kept driving and circled back to their hotel.

"You have got to be fucking kidding me." Dean was about to get out of the vehicle, except it started moving again. "Okay, this shit is really starting to piss me off Dude."

"Someone knows we are investigating. Why bother burning it down otherwise?" Sherlock was thinking out loud, his lips twisted into a thoughtful frown.

"Well, what about the Dude who sent you the e-mail?" Dean was on the verge of an all fit of rage. They just had a bunch of puzzle pieces and none of them seemed to fit together.

"My brother? Perhaps, if he thought I was done and sent in a clean-up crew. I can send him a text when we get back to the hotel." Sherlock gave a slight shrug.

Dean narrowed his eyes. "Clean-up crew? Who the hell is your brother?" He tried to recall the characters from the books and not for the first time he wished Sammy was here.

Sherlock smirked. "And here I thought you knew all about me. My brother has a minor position in the British government. Although, admittedly he has a rather far reach."

"Yeah, yeah. He has weird name like yours. Starts with an 'M', right?" Dean shrugged a bit at his own question, not really worried about an actual answer.

Sherlock smirked a bit and nodded. He parked the stolen car and got out. "Probably don't need to tell you this, but it would be unwise to keep your bag in this vehicle." He pulled out his mobile and sent a text to his brother. He was going to need a new burner phone soon. He had used this one too much. "My brother will send me another e-mail most likely rather sending a than text." Once they were back in the room he walked over to the laptop and logged into one of his e-mail accounts.

Awesome. More waiting. Dean sighed, got his stuff out of the car and followed Sherlock back up to the room. He sat back down on the bed, unhappy about having to wait even longer. "How long do you think it will take for him to get back to you?"


	20. Chapter 20

Author's Note:

I am so sorry for the delay in the update. Been struggling with this story lately but I think I know what I want to happen now and probably only has a five chapters, maybe less, left.

* * *

"Right about..." Sherlock waited for a moment longer, "...now." He clicked open the e-mail. "It wasn't him." If Dean could remember, maybe they could finally figure everything out. He decided to ignore the rest of the message and simply deleted it.

"Someone else knows I am here. Possibly here with me." It didn't come as a surprise to Dean but it did make him a little restless. "I haven't noticed anyone following us, have you?"

Sherlock shook his head. "No. Maybe whoever set the warehouse on fire left behind something we can use to figure out who they are. Find that out and we might be able to find out just how you ended up here."

Dean sighed. Too many 'maybes' and 'mights' for his liking. He was tired of waiting for answers. Every time they went to look for them, something always happened to prevent it. "And if we find nothing about who set the fire?

Sherlock shrugged. "We pursue another lead."

"_What_ other leads Dude? We don't have shit!" Dean got up off the bed and began pacing.

Sherlock sighed. It was difficult working with someone who was emotionally invested in a case. He couldn't just go off and investigate alone though. He needed the American's expertise. He was usually the most clever person in the room but not lately. Another sigh. "We can check out the remnants for the fire tomorrow. Local authorities should be all cleared out by then."

"And we do _what_ in the meantime?" Dean didn't care he was yelling. He was pissed off and the British detective was an easy target. Except, Sherlock was baiting into his fight. Something that only annoyed him further.

"For starters, perhaps you should try relaxing. Yelling and screaming isn't going to fix anything." Sherlock found it strange to be the voice of reason, since he was just as much as child at times as Dean was acting at the moment.

"Well, you're the genius Holmes. What should I do to 'relax'?" Dean finally stopped pacing and fixed the British detective a glare.

Sherlock shrugged. "I don't know. You stopped pacing. That's a good start." What did normal people do to calm down? His lips pursed into a thoughtful frown. "I saw a sign for a Jacuzzi near the pool outside. Don't ordinary people use those things to relax?"

"I fucking hunt and kill demons and other monsters, I'm further from normal than you are." Dean manged a faint smirk at Sherlock. "But yeah, people use those to unwind."

"Well, if you think that will help you maybe you should do that." Sherlock wasn't sure what he would do with himself while Dean was away but he was sure he could find something to occupy his nonstop, working mind.

"I'm not leaving you alone Holmes. Who knows what would happen." Dean didn't want to tempt fate. It never really tipped in his favor. He had enough blood and guilt on his hands, he didn't need to add to it. Another smirk, this one a little more full. "You could always come with me."

"Dean, don't be ridiculous. Things like that don't interest me. You need to relax. Seems like a pretty simple solution to me." Sherlock shrugged, his fingers coming to steeple under his chin as he studied the American.

Dean gave Sherlock another glare. "C'mon Dude. You don't have to get in. If I leave your dumb ass behind, something could happen."

Sherlock smirked. "Why Dean Winchester are you worried about me?"

"Fuck you Holmes. Just get off your lazy ass and let's go." Dean motioned with his head toward the door. He stripped down to boxers and grabbed a towel from the bathroom.

Sherlock sighed. "_Fine, _but I am not getting in." He got up from the chair, clearly annoyed.

Dean smirked and left the room without a word. He went down a floor and then walked into the pool area. It was empty at the moment. Good. He got in the Jacuzzi, relaxing against the wall.

Sherlock followed after the hunter without a word and found a seat on a chair, away from the pool and Jacuzzi.

"You gonna just sit over there the whole time?" Dean rested his arms on the wall.

Sherlock rolled his eyes. "I came down here, isn't that enough? I'm trying to figure out our next move."

"Which is?" Dean shifted a bit so a jet could massage his back.

Sherlock sighed. "If I knew, I wouldn't be spending my time figuring it out."

"Anyone ever tell you that you need to lighten up Dude?" Dean gave the British detective a crooked smirk.

"You have and pretty much anyone who has ever met me." Sherlock returned the smirk. "Now do shut up, I am trying to think."

"Here I thought, I didn't know the meaning of fun." Dean fell quite after that and attempted to relax. Sherlock kept telling him he needed to. How was he supposed to when he had a memory gap and their only solid lead probably got burned up?

Finally. Silence. Sherlock ignored the sounds of the water and began going over everything he had found out or figured out since meeting the American. Maybe he had missed something or over looked something because he had been a bit distracted from time to time. He was shaken from his thoughts when he felt a hand on his shoulder. It was damp, male, familiar. Dean. His gaze focused on the hunter. He hadn't realized there had been a long lapse of time or maybe Winchester hadn't stayed in the Jacuzzi long. Either way, they were both on the way back up to the room.

Dean wasn't sure how long he had stayed in the hot tub, but it had been nice to feel the water bubble around him. The British detective was zoned out, something he become accustomed to. "Earth to British asshole." Awesome. No response. He shook Sherlock's shoulder and when there was some form of acknowledgment, he led them back up to the room. He sat down at the chair in front of the laptop. "Figure anything out while you were Deep Space Nine?"

Sherlock frowned, not understanding whatever Dean was referring to. "Not really. It would help if your memory would return. Hopefully when we investigate the burned down building, we'll find another clue or maybe even answers."

Dean glowered at the mention of his memory loss. It wasn't his fault he couldn't remember damn it. Waiting. What the hell was he supposed to do until tomorrow?

"You should get some sleep." Sherlock didn't plan on sleeping of course but he didn't need to get sleep like other people did.

"I'm not tired." And he wasn't. Dean didn't require much sleep. Just enough to get him through the day, maybe two.

"Fine, just don't interrupt me while I am thinking." Sherlock was getting frustrated he hadn't figured everything out. Usually he would have. He was laying on the bed, staring up at the ceiling, fingers under his chin.

"And _I'm_ the one who needs to relax," Dean muttered as he eyed Sherlock but then fell quiet. Maybe the British detective would figure something out. He sighed and busied himself on the laptop.


End file.
